


Life's Journey Trod

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Birthdays, Children, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Kissing, Falling In Love, Finding love later in life, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Retirement, bereavement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt of "Musketeers getting older. Athos decides to hang up his boots."</p><p>After a lifetime's career in the Musketeers, when Athos finally decides it's time to retire from the regiment he's at a loss for what to do next. In the meantime he decides to pay a visit to Porthos, himself recently bereaved and left with two small children and an estate to run. What begins as little more than a social call results in something longer term for all concerned as both men slowly realise their true place is together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from [The Winter of Life](http://www.blackcatpoems.com/b/the_winter_of_life.html) by Mary Dow Brine.

"Woo hoo!" Throwing his arms in the air with an undignified glee that hardly befitted either his age or his rank, d'Artagnan circled his horse around the courtyard as Athos finally rode in at the archway after him, a good thirty seconds behind.

"Getting slow old man," d'Artagnan grinned.

"Slow am I?" Athos declared, assuming mock offence. "I bet I could still kick your arse."

"Oh yeah? Prove it." D'Artagnan slithered to the ground and handed his horse off to a groom, turning to face Athos who had dismounted behind him.

To the entertainment of those Musketeers loitering around the garrison, the two men proceeded to face off and after a few mock feints threw themselves into a vigorous wrestling match. To the considerable hilarity of all those watching, this ended up with d'Artagnan sprawled face down in the dust being spanked by the flat of Athos' sword.

D'Artagnan accepted Athos' hand up afterwards with good grace and laughed ruefully. "I guess dinner's on me then. Will you join me tonight?"

\--

"You're quiet this evening." D'Artagnan looked across the table at where Athos sat apparently deep in thought, although he clearly wasn't too preoccupied to have finished the plateful of food Constance had presented him with before withdrawing to leave them alone together.

"Am I?" Athos looked up, mildly apologetic. "I suppose I've been thinking. About what you said earlier."

"What did I say?" 

"About me getting slower." Athos sighed, sitting back and twisting the stem of his wineglass, watching the reflection of the candlelight in the dark wine. "You're right. I'm getting too old for this."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Nonsense. What are you, fifty? You've got years left in you yet. I was only joking. Besides, look how you bested me this afternoon."

"And I think we're both perfectly aware that you let me," Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan fidgeted. He'd hoped he hadn't made it so obvious Athos would notice. "What was I supposed to do, humiliate you in front of everyone watching?" he asked, a little defensively.

Athos smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"What are you talking about? If Constance ever found out I'd publicly embarrassed you she'd duck me in the horse trough," d'Artagnan retorted. "It was simply self-preservation, nothing more."

Athos nodded gravely, hiding his amusement and gratitude at d'Artagnan's determination to save his feelings.

"Still," he said. "The fact remains. It takes me longer to recover these days, whether it be from fighting or from drinking. I ache, in the cold weather. And my reaction times are slowing. I don't want to end up getting someone killed. Or myself, for that matter. I suppose I never really imagined getting old, but now that it seems to be creeping up on me I find I have lost my enthusiasm for dying in battle. No, I'm starting to think Porthos had the right idea. Maybe it's time to retire."

"You can't go!" d'Artagnan protested. "I need you!"

"No you don't." Athos smiled at him fondly. "You haven't needed me for years." He'd stepped down as Captain in favour of d'Artagnan at the same time Porthos had retired from the regiment, but d'Artagnan had declared he would only accept the position if Athos stayed on as his lieutenant. 

"But what will you do?" d’Artagnan persisted. "You'll get bored."

"I'll think of something." Athos shrugged. "I think in the short term I'll go and visit Porthos. It's been too long since I went out there."

"I'd come with you if I could spare the time away," d'Artagnan said soberly. "How's he bearing up?"

Athos nodded slowly. "As well as you'd expect I think, in the circumstances. He's not written for a while, I'd guess he has his hands full." 

"Give him my best," d'Artagnan said. "And tell him he's welcome to visit us here any time."

\--

Two weeks later, having written to Porthos of his intention to visit and received an enthusiastic reply almost by return of post, Athos found himself riding towards the house with a feeling of anticipation mixed with guilt at having left it so long. 

Having retired from the regiment, Porthos had married into a family of country gentry, and the house lay some miles distant from Paris. The trip could be done in one hard day's ride during the summer, but given the short and lowering November days that currently beset them, Athos had chosen to do it in two, breaking his journey at an inn. Another sign he was getting on, he reflected with a grim amusement. In his thirties he'd have thought nothing of doing the ride in one go, even if he'd ended up riding in the dark.

The manor was more sprawling farmhouse than château, its sombre grey stone and slate softened by creepers and roses, even at this late season. As Athos dismounted and wondered if he should ring the bell or seek out the stable, his dilemma was solved by the front door flying open and Porthos hurtling out with a bellow of welcome.

Athos found himself enveloped in a bear hug which he returned with equal fervour. Finally pulling back, Porthos gripped his arms and grinned at him. 

"Athos. God but it's good to see you."

Athos gave him a crooked smile, half-taken aback by the warmth of his welcome and glad Porthos seemed well - although he didn't miss the dark shadows under his eyes, and the new threads of grey in his hair.

"It's good to see you too old friend," Athos said. "How are you?"

Porthos' expression clouded a little, but he nodded. "Hanging in there," he said, giving Athos a determined smile. As he turned and caught sight of a small figure in the doorway, his grin returned to something approaching its customary force.

"There you are! I knew you'd be lurking somewhere close by. Come and say hello to your uncle Athos."

A little girl barely higher than Athos' waist came shyly forward. She had the same dark curls as her father corkscrewing out from under a demure cotton bonnet, and looked up at Athos with a hesitant smile.

"Hello Marie." Athos squatted down so he was more on a level with her. "Will you roll your eyes at me if I say how much you've grown?"

Marie's smile grew a little braver, but she remained tongue-tied until Athos held up a finger in apparent recollection.

"Ah! I have something for you. Now, where is it?" Under Marie's speculative gaze Athos made a show of rummaging through his saddlebag until he came up with an object made from wood and felt and horsehair. "Here we go." He held it out, and Marie tentatively reached up.

"It's a horsey." Wide eyed, she examined the toy with covetous interest. "Is it really for me?" 

"Yes. All for you." Athos nodded. He half expected her to run off with it, but Marie took him by surprise by overcoming her initial shyness and hurling herself at his legs and hugging him briefly and fiercely before retreating again.

"That kind of welcome seems to run in the family," Athos murmured.

Porthos cackled. "That was kind of you. Must have cost a pretty penny."

"Call it guilt," Athos smiled. "It must be at least a year since I've seen her."

"Two," said Porthos darkly, and Athos looked alarmed.

"No. Not really? Surely not?"

"Almost to the month," Porthos confirmed, and Athos winced. 

"God I'm sorry. I should have come before. D'Artagnan likes to keep me busy."

"Still hanging on to your apron strings then?" Porthos grinned, then called to a figure crossing the drive behind them. "Here, John, come and take Athos' horse. And take his things up to his room can you? I've put him in the front bedroom over the library." 

A lad of about thirteen ran over to lead the horse away and Porthos ushered Athos into the hallway. Inside the house smelt of woodsmoke and beeswax polish, and felt instantly welcoming.

Marie followed them in, trotting her new horsey over the available surfaces, until from somewhere upstairs came the thin rising cry of a baby. Still clutching the toy in possessive ownership she darted ahead and ran up the staircase leading to the first floor.

Porthos glanced at Athos, a look that held both pride and sadness. "She's only six, and she's already so protective of him," Porthos murmured. He followed Marie up the stairs at a more sedate pace, Athos at his heels.

In a room overlooking the kitchen garden, they found Marie rocking a carved wooden cradle and singing a lullaby in a low voice. This seemed to be having little effect on the wailing emanating from within, and Porthos bent over to lift up the bundle of lace and blanketry that was its source.

At that moment a young woman darted in at the doorway and looked briefly alarmed at finding so many people there.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, looking up at Porthos. 

"It's alright." Porthos shook his head, jiggling the baby against his shoulder.

"I only left him for a minute, I swear."

"I said, it's alright," Porthos snapped, and the wet-nurse bobbed a nervous curtsey and retreated. Athos was again struck by how tired Porthos looked, and wondered how much strain he'd been under.

There was no let up from the ear-splitting screams of the baby, if anything they seemed to be gaining force, and Marie frowned up at her father reprovingly.

"You're bouncing him too much. He doesn't like it."

Porthos stared down at her in exasperation. "You used to like bouncing," he retorted, then gave Athos a pleading look. "Why can't all babies be built the same?"

Athos smiled. "Here, let me have a go."

Porthos handed his son over willingly, and Athos rocked him, crooning gently. Gradually the screams faded into whimpers and snuffles, and Athos glanced up to find he was under the watchful gaze of Marie. She gave him a grave nod of approval and left the room, apparently satisfied things wouldn't go to wrack and ruin without her supervision. He felt strangely flattered.

"You're a natural," Porthos smirked. 

"D'Artagnan's seen to it I've had plenty of practice," Athos admitted. 

"How many's he got now?"

"Six."

"Six!"

"Last one turned out to be twin girls."

"Bloody hell. Poor Constance," Porthos chuckled.

"She dotes on the lot of them," Athos said with a smile. "And perhaps the twins went some way to easing the heartache of losing Claudette to the fever last winter."

Porthos nodded soberly, but as he leaned over to look at his now soundly-sleeping son he smiled again. "Isn't he gorgeous?" he couldn't help prompting.

"Adorable," Athos agreed. "You're very lucky."

"Yeah. I count my blessings," Porthos said softly, but Athos could have bitten his tongue off.

"Porthos, I'm so sorry, that was thoughtless of me."

"Nah, you're right. I am lucky. I could have lost both of them." Porthos sounded choked and Athos tactfully concentrated on the baby for a while until Porthos had mastered himself again.

"He's Francis, am I right?" Athos said, steering the conversation onto safer ground.

"Yeah. Francis Olivier du Vallon de Bracieux."

"Olivier?" Athos looked up in surprise. "You didn't tell me that."

Porthos winked at him. "You might have objected. Just don't tell Aramis, eh? No way I was going to saddle the poor little bugger with René."

"How is Aramis these days? I've not heard from him for a while."

"They finally made him abbot." Porthos grinned. "I sent him a case of brandy as a congratulations present. If he drank it all they've probably defrocked him again by now."

They laughed, albeit quietly so as not to wake the slumbering Francis.

"How's Marie coping?" Athos ventured after a while. For all the little girl's pleasure at her present and her easy bossing of her father, he'd sensed the same hidden tension in her as he could see in Porthos.

"Better than I feared," Porthos murmured. "I guess children are tougher than you think. It's just - she'll forget, you know? And then something'll happen that she wants to tell her mother, and you can see it. The second she remembers she can't. And sometimes it's just a moment but it happens over and over, and - " Porthos' voice shook, and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue.

"Sometimes I think Marie's coping better'n me," he admitted. "Doesn't have the guilt, you see."

"Porthos - " 

"We knew it was risky, at her age. But God forgive me, I wanted a son." Porthos looked up at Athos, and there were tears in his eyes. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I can't - " he left the room at a run.

Athos stayed behind, settled Francis back in his cot and located the nurse to take charge of him again before going in search of Porthos. He found him standing in the garden, staring sightlessly out over the orchard. Athos walked up slowly, and stood next to him in silence.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," he said quietly, after a while. "It wasn't anyone's fault. These things happen."

Porthos gave a muffled sniff. "Aramis reckons she's with God now. That everything happens for a reason, and it's not our place to question it." Porthos turned to Athos with a bewildered anger in his eyes. "How can I believe God gives a stuff about us when He lets things like that happen? If He exists, then He clearly doesn't care."

Athos gave a light shrug. "You'll get no argument from me on that score. I lost any faith in a merciful God a long time ago," he said. "We are either damned, or abandoned. It falls on us to make this life count, either way."

Porthos managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry. This is hardly suitable conversation to inflict on a guest."

Athos gave him a reproving look. "Call me a guest once more and I'll punch you on the nose. I'm a friend, and you'll treat me no differently from any other member of your household."

Porthos' smile widened, and he gave a quiet laugh. "It's damn good to see you Athos. You'll stay for a while, won't you? You don't have to hurry back?" he asked hopefully.

"I can stay as long as you want," Athos agreed. "As a matter of fact - well, I've resigned my commission. I've retired, Porthos."

"You!" Porthos looked astonished. "I didn't think you ever would."

"D'Artagnan didn't want to let me." Athos smiled. "But I was firm about it. He doesn't need me any more, and I hardly relish a future hanging round the place as a growing burden."

"You're looking as fit as you always do," Porthos scoffed. "You're hardly ready for the knackers yard yet."

"Glad to hear it," Athos smiled.

"What will you do?"

"Not sure yet." Athos shrugged. "It's quite nice, having options."

"You could get married?" Porthos suggested mischievously.

"I'm already married," Athos drawled. "They tend to frown on you having two."

"Do you ever hear from her?" Porthos asked tentatively. Athos shook his head. 

"Not for years." He sighed. "I did hear that she'd married an Englishman, of all things. Some lord or other. Changed her name again."

"Well if she can do it what's stopping you?" Porthos pointed out. "Besides, she's still officially dead, anyway."

Athos conceded the point with a smile. "The fact remains, I have no desire or intention to get married. So stop your prodding."

Porthos laughed. "I'm only teasing. Come on, I'll show you your room, I'm being a terrible host." He linked his arm with Athos', and lead him back inside.

\-- 

Washed, changed and rested after his long ride, Athos joined Porthos in the dining room for a welcome and hearty supper.

"Is your room alright?" Porthos asked anxiously. "I'm still getting the hang of the domestic side of things."

"It's perfect, thank you," Athos smiled. "Besides, you're talking to a man who's used to a single cot bed in the garrison. A four-poster and goose-down quilt is like suddenly being in heaven."

Porthos laughed. "That's one thing I don't miss. Never did fit in that damn bed properly. Had a crick in me neck for years." 

Once they'd eaten they retired to the library and settled by the fire in a pair of comfortably worn wingback chairs, nursing goodly measures of cognac.

Conversation initially centred on shared memories and past adventures, but somewhat inevitably worked round to the children.

"Did you never want any of your own?" Porthos ventured quietly. There'd been a time when he'd never have dared ask Athos such a personal question, but age had mellowed both of them, and the cosy circle of firelight seemed to invite confidences.

Athos took a moment to answer. "I'd be a liar if I said no," he finally admitted, staring into the flames rather than meeting Porthos' eyes. "But I accepted a long time ago it was never going to happen. Besides, I'm godfather to d'Artagnan's brood. Six children is quite enough to have responsibility for, for one lifetime."

Porthos studied him consideringly. "Would you consider making it seven?" he asked.

Athos looked up in surprise. "You mean Francis?"

"Yeah." Porthos nodded. "There was a time when we didn't think he was going to make it," he said soberly. "He was christened in rather a hurry. Never had time to think about it."

"Aramis is Marie's godfather, am I right?" Athos asked.

"Yes." Porthos smirked. "I'd ask him to be Francis' as well, except then I'd have to confess his middle name."

Athos laughed, and slowly nodded. "I'd be honoured," he said. Porthos reached over and clasped his hand in gratitude, but his intended words were overtaken by a fit of yawning.

"You're exhausted, and I'm keeping you up," Athos realised guiltily. "You should go to bed."

"I'm fine," Porthos objected, a second yawn belying his words.

"Well speaking for myself I'd welcome an early night," Athos said, determined not to keep Porthos from his bed a moment longer. "I've been riding for the best part of two days."

"Then we'll both go up," Porthos agreed gratefully. He propped a fireguard before the glowing embers while Athos turned down the lamp, and they ascended the staircase together.

Their rooms faced each other across the hallway, and they paused outside to bid each other goodnight. 

"I'll see you in the morning," Porthos said. "I'll give you a tour of the estate if you like. Few changes since you were last here."

"I look forward to it." They embraced with a sleepy affection, and exchanged kisses on both cheeks before withdrawing into their rooms for the night.

\--

Waking in a strange bed in the small hours, for a second Athos was confused about where he was. As recollection returned, Athos also became conscious of the noise that had woken him, muffled by the door but distinctly the plaintive sound of a crying baby.

Athos lay there for a few minutes, assuming someone would quickly go and see to Francis, either the wet nurse or Porthos himself. When there was no let up in the crying, Athos slipped out of bed and cautiously stuck his head out of the door. The glow of a lamp spilled from the nursery, and the creak of floorboards suggested that at least someone was in attendance. 

Not wanting to interfere but also feeling he should see if he could help, Athos padded barefoot up the hallway and looked in. Porthos was pacing the room in his nightshirt, Francis held against one shoulder.

As he turned to retrace his steps down the room, Porthos caught sight of Athos in the doorway and winced. "Sorry, did he disturb you? I should have shut the door."

"It's alright. Is there anything I can do?"

Porthos shook his head wearily. "I just can't get him to settle."

"Is he hungry?" Athos came in and half-closed the door. "I'll concede I might not be much use in that scenario."

Porthos managed a smile at that. "He shouldn't be, Agathe fed him before she put him down. He's just got into the habit of waking up halfway through the night. It's like he knows someone's missing, and it breaks my heart."

"Here, let me have a go." Athos took the squalling baby from him and balanced him securely in the crook of his arm. Barely a couple of minutes later Francis was fast asleep again, and Porthos sank down onto a wooden settle and put his head in his hands.

Athos laid Francis back in the crib and tucked him in before walking over and sitting down next to Porthos.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently.

Porthos fisted his hands in his hair, tugging frustratedly at it before sitting up again with a resigned sigh. "I can't even get my own son to go to sleep, what good am I?" he asked bitterly, then rested his head against the back of the seat and turned to look at Athos with a tired smile. "Tell me your secret?"

"No secret," Athos said, reaching out to rub Porthos' shoulder. "But if I had to guess, I'd say he's picking up on your tension. You're wound tighter than a spring." He let his fingers knead at the cords of muscle beneath Porthos' nightshirt, and Porthos, who'd opened his mouth to deny it subsided again as he accepted the inescapable truth of it.

"I can't do this Athos," Porthos admitted hoarsely, slumping against Athos' shoulder. "I can't do this alone. It's too much."

Athos put an arm right round him. "You're not alone," he said softly, giving him a squeeze. "Go back to bed. Get some rest. If he cries again, I'll come and see to him."

"I can't ask you to do this," Porthos protested, but Athos shook his head firmly.

"I know you think you have to do everything yourself, but you don't. Let me help." He smiled. "That's an order."

\--

Breakfasting alone the next morning, Athos hoped that Porthos was taking advantage of a well-deserved lie-in. This turned out not to be the case when the front door opened to admit Porthos from outside, followed in by a flurry of dead leaves. He shivered, clapping his hands together to restore circulation and coming to join Athos at the table.

"Wouldn't be surprised if it didn't snow soon." Porthos caught the look Athos was giving him, and narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"How long have you been up?"

Porthos shrugged. "It was still dark, I know that much. Estate won't run itself."

"If you collapse with exhaustion it'll have to." Athos retorted. "I thought you had an estate manager, anyway?"

"I do."

"Don't you trust him?"

"Yeah, course I do." Porthos looked uncomfortable. "But some things you have to see to yourself, right?"

"Some things, yes. Everything, no."

Porthos sighed heavily. "You're right, of course. It's just - it's something I can control, you know? When it feels like everything else is out of my hands or falling apart."

Athos nodded sympathetically. He could understand the impulse, although was quietly worried Porthos was working himself into the ground. "You still need to sleep," he said gently. "Can't you let Agathe see to Francis at night?" 

"She already has him all day, it doesn't seem fair."

Athos suppressed a smile. It seemed neither of them were terribly good at servants. "Is there no one else who could help?"

"She was the only one locally who was - you know. Suitable." Porthos made a vague gesture at his chest, looking embarrassed.

"Does she not have a child of her own?" Athos asked, realising for the first time that he'd never heard a second baby about the place, and that Agathe lived in.

"Didn't carry to term," Porthos mouthed, with a glance at the open doorway. 

Athos sighed. "Poor girl. Still, she's young, she can try again." As soon as he'd said it he remembered what had happened to Porthos' wife and cut himself off awkwardly. "I mean to say - "

Porthos shook his head. "You don't have to censor yourself, I'm not that fragile." He gave Athos a grim smile. "I lived through it, a few unfortunate words ain't gonna hurt me." He stood up and thrust his hands into the sleeves of his coat. "You want to see the old place then? Probably not worth getting the horses out, we can walk round it in a morning."

Athos followed him into the hallway and Porthos was helping him into his coat when the sound of raised voices reached them from upstairs. There came a shriek followed by an indignant shout which both sounded like Agathe, then a high pitched tirade that was certainly Marie, followed by more shouting on both sides culminating in the rising cry of a baby.

Porthos stormed up the stairs growling under his breath, and Athos hastily ran up after him. Marie and Agathe were facing off in the hallway, both so intent on their argument that Porthos was almost upon them before they noticed him.

"What is the meaning of this row?" he demanded, and the screaming from the nursery doubled in volume. Porthos winced, and lowered his voice. "What the devil's going on here?"

Agathe had paled from flushed anger to white faced alarm at Porthos' appearance, and Athos realised she'd probably thought he was still out of the house. "She keeps creeping up on me," Agathe muttered, gesturing at Marie. "Scares the life out of me, it's unnatural."

"It's my house, I can go where I like!" Marie shouted, eyes glittering with fury at being told on. "You just work here!"

"Marie!" Porthos turned on her with a face like thunder. "You will apologise. Now."

"No." Marie held out for a full five seconds before cracking in the face of her father's rage. Athos was privately quite impressed. 

"Sorry," she muttered resentfully. Agathe, in turn, gave a tight nod of acceptance. It was hardly the warmest reconciliation, but Porthos seemed to accept it as the best he was going to get and marched back towards the stairs, muttering to himself. It was only Athos who caught the look of abject misery and confused anger on Marie's face as her father walked away.

As Agathe retreated back into the nursery he held out a hand to the little girl. "Porthos is going to give me the grand tour. You want to come with us?"

Marie eyed him in astonishment, as if expecting a trap. "He won't want me there," she muttered.

"He will if you behave," Athos pointed out. "There are better ways to get his attention than making him cross with you, you know."

Marie's stare narrowed for a second, then she hesitantly took Athos' hand. "Will it really be alright?" she said in a small voice.

"Of course it will," Athos said breezily. "How can he possibly turn down two people as charming as us?"

Marie stifled a giggle and followed Athos downstairs willingly, although he felt her fingers tighten on his when they walked up to Porthos, who looked at her stonily.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I said she could come with us," Athos said immediately. "Figured it would keep her out of trouble," he added, forestalling any further protest. Porthos glared at both of them for a second, then grunted defeat.

"Oh fine. Go and get your outdoor coat then." 

Athos looked down at Marie and winked. 

\--


	2. Chapter 2

It was a cold and blustery morning but bright sunshine occasionally broke through the scudding clouds, and it was at least dry. As they made their tour of the modest estate Porthos' mood gradually lifted, and by the time they'd circled back round to the stables behind the house, Marie was swinging along between them, holding both their hands.

The warmth of the stable was welcome, and Marie was transported with delight to discover a new horse in residence. Athos introduced them, then sat down on a bale of hay next to Porthos to watch her feeding pieces of carrot to each inhabitant of the stalls.

"I've let her run wild," Porthos murmured disconsolately after a while, keeping his voice too low for Marie to catch. "When her mother died - it felt like there was nothing I could do to make it up to her. So for a while there was no rules, no schooling, no bedtime. And now I've made a rod for me own back, and getting her to behave again is a nightmare. I never seem to get the balance right, I'm either letting her spiral out of control, or being too strict and making her hate me."

"You're doing fine," Athos said reassuringly, looking round at him with a smile. "She's a smart girl. She'll always be pushing, that one. But she won't hate you for setting clear boundaries. It'll make her feel safer, in the long run."

Porthos sighed. "The hardest part's been not having anyone to talk to about any of this. I never know if I'm on the right track or wildly off course. It's not like I had a proper upbringing to compare it to."

"Trust your instincts," Athos told him. "You're a good man, and a good father Porthos. You're doing okay, I promise."

Porthos gave him a grateful smile and they leaned companionably against each other, watching Marie flitting from horse to horse. She still had the toy horse Athos had given her tucked into her sash, and from the degree of grubbiness it had achieved overnight he suspected it hadn't been out of her grasp for a second.

Eventually Marie ran out of carrot supplies and began to pay more attention to her own stomach's growling. Reluctantly leaving the stalls and coming back over to them in hope of lunch, it wasn't until Athos went to stand up that he discovered Porthos had fallen fast asleep against his arm.

\--

The following day was Sunday, and Athos accompanied the household to mass in the little timber and flint church in the village. As they emerged into the hard winter sunshine afterwards, Porthos slipped away from the rest with a muttered excuse. Before Athos could catch what he'd said, Marie had tugged him by the hand in the opposite direction, determined to show him off. 

It was perhaps inevitable that everyone they spoke to knew who she was, but Athos was quietly impressed by the fact that for all her handful of years Marie knew just as much about everyone else. He got the impression Porthos was well liked as a landlord, and that his loud, boisterous, inquisitive daughter was tolerated by most with an amusement that bordered on pride. It wasn't every squire's six year old daughter who would know all his tenants by name, but then, Athos mused, it wasn't every squire who would let her mingle so freely with them.

As they finally made their way towards the churchyard gate, Athos spied Porthos a little way away, standing beside one of the more recent graves, his head bowed. Marie too stared across at him, and Athos squeezed her hand, wondering what she was thinking.

"You want to go over?" he offered.

Marie shook her head. "Uncle Aramis says she's not really there," she announced. "He says Mama's in heaven now, looking down on me."

"Was he trying to get you to behave at the time, by any chance?" Athos murmured.

Marie looked shiftily at him. "I'd taken the last helping of pudding. He said she could see me, he didn't say she could do anything about it." 

Athos hastily turned his surprised laugh into a cough, on the grounds there was no point encouraging her. 

"Why didn't you come to the funeral?" Marie asked, carefully sounding out the word so recently introduced to her vocabulary.

Athos looked down at her, but there was no accusation there, only a child's uncomfortable directness.

"I was away," he explained, "with the regiment. Escorting an envoy to Spain. I didn't hear what had happened until I came back, or I would have."

Marie nodded, both accepting and immediately distracted. "What's it like? Spain, I mean?"

Athos considered. He hadn't seen much of it, and it had rained for what felt like the entire month he'd been away. "Bit like France really. Except the food's worse."

They waited at the lychgate for Porthos to catch them up, and he gave Athos a grateful nod of acknowledgement when Athos kept his silence rather than offering empty words of sympathy.

With Marie once more swinging along between them, they headed home. Athos considered his friend with occasional sidelong looks. Porthos seemed subdued, but this appeared to be more from tiredness than anything. He still managed to respond good-humouredly to Marie's near-constant chatter, and smiled resignedly at Athos whenever he caught his eye.

It had been no great love-match between Porthos and his wife as far as Athos was aware, although there'd been a certain quiet romance about it. They'd both been well past the age of fierce passions and stormy affairs, but had settled into a warm companionship that had soon been blessed, rather to their surprise, by a child. 

Athos was conscious of a subtle prickling of guilt whenever he thought about the late Nanette. He'd resented her slightly, not for taking Porthos away from the regiment, but for taking him away from Paris completely. Athos had never begrudged his friend's happiness, but they'd only seen each other a handful of times since his marriage and he'd had occasion to be sad about it. 

Now though, Athos remembered his earlier thoughts with a sense of shame and was glad he'd never spoken them aloud to anyone. He would never have chosen for their reunion to be under such circumstances, and the loss had clearly hit Porthos hard.

As they approached the pedestrian gate in the garden wall, Marie abruptly let go of both of them and ran ahead to open it up. On impulse, Athos reached over and took Porthos' hand in his. It was just a moment's contact, but Porthos returned the pressure of his hand and flashed him a surprised smile.

They had to let go again to pass through the gateway, but as they walked up the path to the house, Athos was gladdened to notice Porthos still faintly smiling.

\--

As the day wore on, the early sunshine turned into scudding grey clouds. By nightfall there was lashing rain driving in with the rising wind, and everyone was thankful to be huddled in the cosy parlour, at least until there came a knocking at the front door.

Porthos went to answer it himself and came back grim-faced but resigned, saying that a fence had come down in the pasture, and he'd have to go out and help fix it or risk losing half the stock. Athos was half-way to his feet, saying he'd come and help, but Porthos waved him back.

"Stay here in the warm with Marie. See she goes to bed at a halfway reasonable time?"

"What am I, a nursemaid now? I'd be more use helping with the fence," Athos pointed out, knowing perfectly well Porthos was only saying it because he didn't want to impose on his guest.

"You asked if you could help," Porthos pointed out quietly. "This is what I'm asking you to do."

Athos gave in gracefully, guessing that perhaps too, Porthos would only worry Marie would be scared if she was left alone here with the wind howling through the eaves of the old house. Not that she'd _be_ alone, given there were five members of household staff and a baby to keep her company, but seeing that Porthos' mind was made up he didn't argue.

An hour past Marie's supposed bedtime Porthos still hadn't returned, and Athos finally insisted she go up. 

"He could be out half the night chasing sheep," Athos pointed out. "There's no sense in sitting up."

She protested vigorously, but Athos was implacable and Marie gave in before they could fall out. As a concession to her surrender Athos came into her room once the maid had settled her into bed, and offered to read her a story.

"They're boring. I already know all of them," Marie declared, watching Athos examine the respectable collection of fables, myths and legends on her shelf. Porthos had been determined she should have every advantage in life he'd been denied as a child, a privilege Marie was blithely unaware of.

Athos raised an eyebrow, and settled in the chair next to the bed. "Perhaps you should tell me a story in that case," he said, and she returned his look so scathingly that he laughed. "Oh very well, what should it be about?"

"Something exciting," she said immediately. "With fighting. And horses."

"Fighting?" Athos hid a smile. "That's not exciting. That's just killing people."

"You're a soldier," she pointed out.

"A retired soldier," Athos countered. "One that's tired of fighting. How about something with pirates in it?"

Marie considered this. "Do they have horses?"

Athos leaned back in the chair and propped his boot on the bedframe. "Ah, now you'd be wanting the Dread Horse Pirates that sailed out of the West African coast, perhaps?"

\--

It was long past midnight, and Athos had been in bed for some time himself when he finally heard Porthos come back in and plod wearily up the stairs. Athos climbed out of bed again and ventured into the corridor.

"Alright?" he murmured, as Porthos trudged past him.

"All done," Porthos nodded, leaning against the door post and yawning. He took in Athos' night attire and frowned. "What time is it?"

"Time you were in bed," Athos smiled. "You look wiped out."

"Can't feel my feet," Porthos grumbled. Athos noticed for the first time that despite having shed his outerwear downstairs, Porthos was soaked to the skin and shivering.

"Come on. Bed. Now," Athos scolded, herding Porthos into his room, closing the door behind them. "Let's get this lot off you."

Too tired to object, Porthos allowed Athos to strip him of his clothing, submitting to a rough towelling before easing stiffly into his nightshirt. Athos chivvied him into bed and wrapped a rug around his shoulders, concerned that despite looking a little better, Porthos was still shivering and monosyllabic in his responses.

"Do you want me to fetch you a hot drink?" Athos asked.

Porthos shook his head. "I just want to sleep, I think." He caught Athos' sleeve as he was turning to go. "Athos. Thank you."

Athos smiled. "As long as I don't have to tell you a bed-time story as well."

\--

Athos had just finished breakfasting the next morning when the housekeeper came to find him. Madame Ricard was a motherly lady who'd been with Nanette's family for decades and was married to the head groom. Normally composed and unflappable, this morning she looked perturbed and Athos rose to greet her, sensing something wrong.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said anxiously. "But it's Monsieur Porthos, he is not well. I don't really like to - I wondered if you - ?"

"I'll go and see him at once," Athos promised, and she looked relieved. Small children, fellow women and husbands did not pose a problem, but tending to the master of the house in a state of undress was rather beyond her remit, and Porthos had never seen the need to employ a valet. 

Athos hurried upstairs, cursing himself for not taking more notice of Porthos' declining condition the night before, or his overall state of exhaustion. He found Porthos awake but barely coherent, muttering restlessly and too weak to even sit up, although he was trying.

Athos guided him firmly back down into the pillows and tucked the covers more snugly round him.

"Shhh," Athos soothed, stroking a calming hand across Porthos' hot forehead. "Lie still. You don't have to be anywhere. It's alright."

Porthos mumbled something that might have been Athos' name, but his eyes were half-closed and the involuntary shivering of his fever-wracked body made it hard to make out.

"I'm here," Athos promised. "I'll see to everything. You just concentrate on getting better." He sought out Porthos' hand and held it reassuringly tightly. "Daft beggar," he whispered, once it seemed that Porthos had slipped back into a troubled sleep. "I told you you were overdoing it. Now look."

Emerging from Porthos' room a few minutes later, Athos found both Madame Ricard and Agathe waiting in the corridor, looking expectantly at him.

"I think it's just a combination of exhaustion and a chill, but you'd better send for the doctor to be sure," Athos instructed. "Keep the children away from him for the time being, until we're sure it's nothing contagious. I'll see to him, I think that's best."

Relieved he was willing to take charge of matters the women left him alone again, and Athos went back into Porthos' room. He hung up the damp clothes that the previous night he'd left piled on a chair, and wandered about vaguely tidying and straightening things. The curtains he drew partially open to let in a little more daylight, whilst careful not to make it uncomfortably bright.

Porthos for his part, was still asleep, although mumbling as he tossed and turned in the bed. Athos drifted over and sat down on the edge, smoothing down the covers again and murmuring reassurances. He wasn't overly worried, knowing of old Porthos' habit of pushing himself too far and too hard to the point his body took matters into its own hands and simply shut down on him. 

If he could be convinced to rest and recuperate, Athos had little doubt Porthos would make a full recovery; the tricky part would be convincing him to do so once he was well enough to object.

Leaning back against the headboard and lulled by the quiet snuffling snores now emanating from the mound of bedclothes next to him, Athos found himself dozing off. 

He woke with a start some time later, the echoes of the entry bell still jangling through the hallway. Guessing it heralded the arrival of the doctor Athos hastily slid off the bed and straightened his attire.

A minute later Madame Ricard ushered the man in, and Athos' heart sank a little. He hadn't been sure what quality of doctor this rural area would furnish, but he'd anticipated someone bluff and practical, accustomed to treating labourer's injuries and the everyday maladies of the community. 

The man before him though, did not inspire confidence. He was a thin, birdlike fellow, with a sharp nose holding up a pair of wire-framed spectacles. His dusty black coat looked less than clean, and his hand, when Athos shook it, was unpleasantly sweaty.

As first order of business the doctor ordered everyone out of the room so he could examine the patient. Athos refused to budge, partly on principle and partly through old habit; there'd been a time when he and Porthos and Aramis, and later d'Artagnan too, had ensured if one of them was injured at least one of the others would be present to speak up in the event they couldn't, mainly to prevent any over-enthusiastic surgeons from unnecessarily removing limbs.

He held his tongue as the doctor prodded Porthos awake, pulling back the bedclothes and examined him with cursory interest. Porthos was barely aware of what was going on, blinking painfully in the low light and clearly having trouble focussing.

"It's just a chill, right?" Athos spoke for the first time, becoming concerned at how long Porthos was being left uncovered. "He was out late last night, and got very wet and cold."

"Possibly, possibly." The doctor sucked his teeth, making non-committal noises and rummaging in his bag. "I think however it will be to his benefit, to rebalance the humours a little." He produced a thin glass tube and a metal dish from his bag. "A small amount should be sufficient at first, although if we see no improvement the procedure may be repeated." He laid a scalpel in the dish and turned back to the bed, pushing up the sleeve of Porthos' nightshirt.

It was at this point Athos lost his patience. "Over my dead body." He gathered up the doctor's equipment, dropped it none too carefully into the bag from whence it came and then shoved the bag at the doctor's chest, so that he was obliged to grasp it or drop it.

"Thank you for coming sir, I'm sorry you have had a wasted trip, now good day to you," Athos said firmly.

"If he is not treated properly you endanger his recovery," declared the doctor waspishly.

"The only danger to him in this room right now is you," Athos retorted. "Forgive me, I've seen enough battlefield surgery to come to believe blood is best kept on the inside. All Porthos needs is warmth and rest, and I'll see that he gets it."

"You believe you know better than me then? A man of medicine?" 

Athos opened the door pointedly and glared at him. "Honestly? It's a risk I'm willing to take." 

"There is still the question of my fee." 

"Madame Ricard will settle it for you," said Athos, knowing she would have a better idea than him of what was a fair price in these parts and if anything less likely to let the man overcharge than he was. 

The doctor left in ill-temper, and Athos slammed the door behind him before turning guiltily to the bed. Porthos was still awake but no more lucid, and Athos re-settled him under the covers.

"I'm sorry," Athos murmured, talking to himself as much as Porthos. "I shouldn't have asked him here. I should trust my own instincts by now." He felt Porthos' forehead and winced. He was hot to the touch, and still shivering slightly. 

Athos sighed. Having turned down the doctor's advice, it was up to him now, to see that Porthos made a full recovery. He only hoped he was right.

\--

As the day wore on Porthos' condition seemed to worsen; by turns sweating and shivering, he barely knew where he was or what was happening. There was little Athos could usefully do but watch over him, and he settled in for the long haul.

At one point, waking from a fitful sleep Porthos seemed surprised to see him. 

"Athos? How did you get here? Where's Nanette?" His words barely distinguishable, but enough to make Athos ache for him.

"She's not far away," he lied softly. "Go back to sleep."

Porthos frowned at him, as if trying to catch hold of a nagging truth, just out of reach. Athos leaned over and pulled the covers back round him, stroking a hand down the mound of his shoulder.

"It's alright. Don't fret. You just need to rest."

Nodding heavily as sleep encroached once more, Porthos gave in and sank back into the bed. Athos sighed, only resuming his seat once he was sure Porthos was properly asleep again.

By evening the worst seemed to be over, and Porthos was even able to sit up and take a little soup. To Athos' relief he made no further mention of Nanette, and he guessed Porthos didn't even remember the conversation.

Athos considered staying in the room overnight, but Porthos seemed to have turned the corner, and eventually he retired to his own bed.

It was perhaps two in the morning when Athos was woken by the distant yet already familiar sound of Francis crying in the nursery. He lay there for a while debating whether to get up, but the baby was Agathe's responsibility and he didn't want to be seen to interfere.

What changed his mind was a muffled but heavy thud from across the passage. Frowning with exasperation, Athos threw back the covers and got out of bed. He emerged into the passage just in time to see Agathe going into the nursery and nodded to her, before stepping across the hall and opening the door to Porthos' room.

As he suspected, Porthos was currently in a heap on the floor, having tried to get up to see to his son and discovered the hard way that his legs lacked the strength to hold him up.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Athos scolded, heaving him up and not really expecting an answer.

"Francis - "

"Is with Agathe, and perfectly fine," Athos interrupted, manhandling Porthos back into bed. In fact the cries had already stopped, Athos noted with satisfaction.

"Please." Porthos gripped his arm weakly. "Make sure?"

Athos patted his hand. "Oh very well. If you'll promise not to try and get up again?"

Porthos nodded reluctant assent, and Athos slipped out of the room.

In the nursery, Agathe was settling the now happily gurgling Francis back into his crib. 

"Your room's further down the hall, am I right?" Athos murmured. "If it's alright with you, I suggest we move the cot in there tomorrow. It will be easier for both of you that way, and less likely to disturb Porthos, while he's indisposed."

Agathe agreed readily, and Athos made his way back to Porthos, who looked up anxiously as he re-entered the room, his eyes still fever-bright.

"He's fine." Athos climbed up to sit next to Porthos on the bed, and Porthos leaned sideways against him.

"I'm sorry," Porthos sighed. "I worry too much, I know."

"After what happened, no one's going to blame you for being a little over-sensitive," Athos reassured him. "But there's plenty of people around you to help carry the burden. Let them."

"Yes sir," Porthos said sleepily, and Athos laughed. 

"Quite right. Now, shift up." He pushed back the covers and climbed into the bed.

"What you up to?" Porthos mumbled, face half hidden in the pillow as he settled down to sleep.

"Making sure you don't go wandering off again," Athos retorted. "I can keep a better eye on you from here."

There was no answer though. Porthos had already fallen asleep again.

\--

For the next two days, as the fever waxed and waned Porthos slipped in and out of varying levels of awareness and lucidity. Athos divided his time between keeping an eye on him and keeping Marie out of trouble, although with her father out of action she seemed less inclined to misbehave than usual. Athos sensed her unspoken worry and remained brisk with her, reassuring her that Porthos would be fine, whilst simultaneously giving her plenty of things to keep her mind occupied.

On the third day following the doctor's visit, Athos woke to find Porthos watching him with a puzzled smile.

"Morning."

Porthos' lips twitched. "Morning. What you doing in my bed, or have I missed something?"

Athos sat up. "About two days, actually. You insisted on repeatedly passing out, this was the easiest way to keep an eye on you. How do you feel?"

"Wrung out." Porthos rubbed his face and yawned. "Have I really been in bed for two days?"

"Three." Athos hesitated. "Sorry for the invasion of your room," he added quietly, not entirely sure how Porthos would feel finding him in the marital bed like this. He'd planned on moving out again as soon as Porthos had shown signs of recovery.

"No problem." Porthos stretched out in the bed and smiled at him. "Like old times, eh?"

It was Athos' turn to smile. There'd been plenty of shared beds over the years, either whilst travelling or huddled together in army encampment tents against the biting winter cold.

"At least the bed's bigger this time." Athos climbed out and went to stoke up the embers in the fireplace, settling a couple of fresh logs on the top. Despite the luxury of having fires in both this room and his own chamber the season was cold, and it had certainly been cosier sharing the bed with Porthos these last couple of nights. 

Now he was up Athos hesitated, but Porthos noticed and patted the bed next to him.

"Come back in, you'll catch a chill. Then you'll be the one stuck in bed for days." Porthos worked his stiff shoulders with a groan, feeling the bones click. "I'd better get up soon though."

"You stay where you are," Athos said firmly, slipping gratefully back under the covers. "You might be feeling brighter, but there's no sense rushing it. Take the time to recover properly."

"I need to check on things."

"Everything's fine," Athos told him. "I've seen to it. Everyone knows perfectly well what they need to do to keep the place running."

Porthos subsided, looking a little sulky. "You know how to make a man feel needed," he muttered.

"You would prefer everything to fall apart in your absence?" Athos asked crisply, and Porthos gave a reluctant laugh.

"No. Of course not. Wouldn't kill you to pretend though."

"Oh, cheer up. Enjoy the rest for once," Athos advised, determined not to let Porthos feel sorry for himself. "Look, you settle down there, I'll fetch you up some beef tea."

"Oh. Thanks," Porthos said unenthusiastically, as Athos pulled on a robe and went to the door. "Lovely."

When Athos came back up a while later carefully balancing a cup of Madame Ricard's most nourishing concoction, he was bemused to find the bedroom empty. He'd barely set the cup down on a side table before a bellow of frightened anguish echoed down the hall and Athos realised in a flash what must have happened.

Athos ran down the passage, almost crashing into Porthos as he came out of the empty nursery, and seizing him by the shoulders.

"He's fine. Porthos, he's fine, listen to me, he's okay."

The look of horrified shock in Porthos' face waned slightly as he finally took in what Athos was saying. "Francis?" he breathed.

Athos nodded firmly. "He's fine," he repeated. "He's in Agathe's room, that's all. We moved the cot so she could see to him more easily, and so that he wouldn't disturb you."

Porthos' laboured breathing gradually eased as his heartrate returned to normal, and he gave Athos a sheepish look. "Sorry. I panicked."

"Now, if you'd just stayed in bed like I told you to, you wouldn't have had a shock, would you?" Athos asked tartly, ushering Porthos back down the hall and into his room.

"Never was very good at doing what I was told," Porthos admitted, letting Athos chivvy him into bed and accepting the cup. "Any chance of a splash of brandy in this?" he asked hopefully.

"Already in there," Athos admitted, and they exchanged a smile. "I'm sorry," Athos sighed after a moment. "I never meant to scare you like that."

"It's okay," Porthos said. "You're right, I should have stayed here." He looked up, hopefully. "Can I see him though?"

"I'll bring him in," Athos agreed, seeing how shaken Porthos had been by those few seconds when he'd jumped to the worst conclusion. "I just wanted to keep him away until we were sure you weren't infectious, but I think you're fine."

He went to fetch the baby from Agathe, and watched as Porthos gazed down at his son with an expression of relief and wonder. 

"How's he been?" Porthos asked, watching Francis curl tiny fingers around his thumb and smile up at him.

Athos hesitated. The little boy had been as good as gold and now he was sleeping in proximity to the woman he spent all day with, had barely disturbed anyone's sleep at all. 

"Missed his father," he lied.

Porthos beamed at him, and Athos patted his shoulder affectionately. 

Just then the door creaked open a fraction, and a dark head peeked cautiously through the gap at them. When both men looked up Marie's instinctive reaction was to duck back out of sight and Athos wondered fleetingly how it must feel to her, to see both men bent so attentively over Francis. 

He recalled his own feelings of intense jealousy at being presented with his baby brother, and the guilt he still felt at his death, even knowing what had happened, and what Thomas had done. Maybe if he'd been a better brother...Athos pushed the thoughts away and held out a hand a fraction of a second before Porthos did the same, beckoning the girl into the room.

Seeing she was welcome after all, Marie scampered in and climbed up onto the bed between them. Porthos put an arm around her and smiled. "I hope you've been behaving?"

"Of course!" Marie looked affronted and he laughed. "Uncle Athos has been giving me lessons," Marie added with dignity, and Porthos laughed harder, until he started coughing.

"In what, or shouldn't I ask? Are you the best swordswoman in the regiment yet?"

Marie giggled, and Athos rolled his eyes. 

"A little light arithmetic and literature," he said. "Her studies have been rather neglected lately, it seems."

Marie crossed her eyes at him, and Athos hid a smile.

"She's only six!" Porthos objected, looking uncomfortable. He'd meant to engage a governess, but things had been so confused and hectic after Nanette's death he'd never got round to it, or found the time to sit with her himself.

"I could read perfectly well by then," Athos pointed out. "There's no reason she shouldn't. But we're making progress." He noticed Porthos stifle a yawn, and stood up. "You should rest. Here, let me take Francis back to Agathe."

It was a measure of how fragile Porthos was still feeling that he let Athos take the baby with only a token protest, and when Athos came back in a moment later he found Porthos was sagging back against the pillows.

"Right. You, out," Athos instructed Marie. "Let your father rest. I'll see you in the library in half an hour. Bring your books."

She stuck her tongue out on principle but left without a fuss and Porthos raised his eyebrows.

"You really have got to tell me your secret. She never does what I tell her that easily."

"And do you punish her when she doesn't?" Athos enquired mildly, tucking the covers round Porthos as carefully as he'd done for Marie on the past three nights, having seen her to bed.

"No," Porthos admitted. "Do you?" he asked, not entirely sure how he felt about Athos disciplining his daughter, however unruly she was.

"No," Athos said, then smiled. "But she believes me capable of it."

Porthos laughed, relaxing and patting the covers next to him until Athos sat down again.

"You're right," Porthos said quietly. "I have been meaning to engage someone for her. I want her to have all the advantages I never had." He smiled. "Don't suppose you fancy the job?"

Athos snorted. "What do I know about bringing up little girls?"

"Quite a lot, by the looks of things." Porthos smiled again. "Maybe there's less difference between little girls and a regiment of soldier-boys than you'd think." 

That made Athos laugh properly and Porthos grinned at him, pleased. There'd always been a sense of achievement attached to getting Athos to laugh, and the warm feeling that went with it made him feel somehow happier than he had for months.

"Bet you were a right little bastard at that age," Porthos mused, watching Athos from heavy-lidded eyes as sleep threatened to overtake him again. "Quite the little lord."

"Oh, I was dreadful," Athos agreed readily. "All ringlets and attitude."

Porthos chuckled at the image, then sighed. "I was already fending for meself by then."

"How did you ever survive?" Athos asked quietly. It was a period of Porthos' life that he'd always been reluctant to talk about, and Athos had never pressed for details, understanding all too well that a man might not want to divulge his past.

"There were these gangs, of orphaned kids," Porthos said. "A lot of them. Feral, really. One of them took me in."

"That was kind."

Porthos made a derisive noise. "Kindness had nothing to do with it. Five year old boy, perfect size for slipping through unlocked windows see," he expanded at Athos' look of enquiry. "I had to earn my keep."

"Ah." Athos nodded, and Porthos gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"Still. There were worse things that could have happened to me. A lot worse. And I did alright in the end, didn't I?"

"You did," Athos agreed. "And you put me to shame. When I think of all the things I took for granted..."

"Ah, rubbish," Porthos interrupted him. "You turned out alright, an' all. Silver spoon or not."

"I'm glad you think so," Athos said softly, and they shared a smile. 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

After a few days Porthos was up and about again. His first order of business was to make a slow tour of the estate with Athos, insisting on knowing exactly what had gone on during his enforced absence. 

As they returned to the house through the stable yard, they turned a corner to find Porthos' estate manager in conversation with a young man Athos hadn't seen before. To his surprise, the sight of him had Porthos bristling with anger.

"What's he doing here?" he demanded, striding over.

"Looking to see if there's any work going sir," came the answer. Porthos immediately rounded on the unfortunate lad with a glare. 

"Get out of here. I've told you before, there'll be no work for you on my land. Go on, get away with you."

The young man looked like he would have liked to argue, but Porthos was implacable and with Athos and the estate manager standing either side, he gave in with a shrug and started trudging away.

"Who was that?" Athos murmured curiously, as they made their way back towards the house.

"Agathe's sweetheart, as was," Porthos muttered after a pause. Athos didn't miss the significance of his choice of words.

"Not husband?"

Porthos looked uncomfortable. "People can be a bit more lax about things out here in the sticks," he said. "If a girl's belly starts to swell before they're properly married, well, people turn a blind eye if it's all in hand and arranged, you know? And it was, they were all set for the wedding." Porthos sighed. "Except - then she went and lost the kid. And he decided maybe he wasn't so keen to get married after all, and threw her over."

"Oh dear." 

"Yeah." Porthos looked angry. "And while people are a bit forgiving to a girl with a fiancée, they're a whole lot harder on what they see as a fallen woman with no prospects."

"That's why you gave her the job," Athos said, light dawning. Porthos had said Agathe was the only suitable candidate, but whilst attending Mass with him Athos had seen several other women carrying babies of nursing age. Wet-nurse to the son of a man of Porthos' standing would have been an eagerly sought position, not to mention a lucrative one. 

"Yeah," said Porthos softly. 

"It must be hard for her," Athos mused. "Nursing someone else's child, having lost her own. She'll get very attached to him," he added cautiously.

Porthos shrugged. "He'll still need a nurse, even when he's not feeding any more. I'm hardly going to chuck her out."

Athos smiled, and Porthos looked sideways at him. "Am I soft?"

"I think you're the most kind hearted man I've ever met." Athos took his arm as they walked, and Porthos smiled at him gratefully. 

"There's plenty in the village reckon I'm sleeping with her," Porthos sighed. "I'm not," he added hastily, and Athos laughed.

"There's none would blame you if you were."

"I'm old enough to be her father!" Porthos objected. "Nah, there'll be no more women for me. Whatever the gossips like to pretend. Besides, Marie'd kill me."

"They don't get on?"

"Let's just say there's a bit of friction between them," Porthos muttered. "I guess it's only to be expected. She misses her mother."

"Perhaps you should reassure her that you have no plans regarding re-marriage," Athos suggested. "She may hear what's being said in the village and be worried."

"She's six!" Porthos objected. "I hardly think she'd be hearing that sort of tittle-tattle."

"If I've learnt anything from being around d'Artagnan's family?" Athos said with a smile, "it's that children hear everything."

Porthos looked thoughtful, then worried. "You reckon?"

"Everything," repeated Athos firmly. "You might also consider explaining to her that Agathe has reason to be sad," he added quietly.

Porthos shook his head. "She's too young to be talking about that kind of thing with her."

"Why? She has good reason to understand grief," Athos said. "And losing someone. Marie has a kind heart. If she saw Agathe as someone who has also suffered, rather than someone who's trying to take her mother's place - maybe they would get along a little better."

"Don't suppose you want to talk to her about it?" Porthos said hopefully.

Athos clapped him on the back. "There are some things a father just has to do himself," he said cheerfully.

\--

"So - I was wondering," said Porthos one morning, as they were riding together through the woods on the edge of the estate. "Will you stay for Christmas?"

Athos looked over at him in surprise. "That's almost another month!"

"What's a few weeks between friends?" Porthos grinned. "Besides, you said you had nothing pressing to do."

"Well, no," Athos admitted. "But d'Artagnan will surely expect me back for Christmas." He hesitated. "I have rather been in the habit of spending it with them, these last few years."

"Oh." Porthos looked a little downcast. "Marie would be so glad if you would stay," he ventured. 

Athos hid a smile at Porthos' transparent use of his daughter as an excuse. "She would?"

"Oh yes." Porthos looked suddenly sombre. "It'll be her first Christmas without her mother," he added. 

Athos relented. He realised it would be Porthos' first Christmas alone too.

"Alright. But I'll need to go back to Paris in the meantime. Just for a couple of days," he added, as Porthos looked mournful again. "I never really expected to be away this long, there are things I need to tie up."

Porthos duly agreed, and in a week's time Athos made his goodbyes and set off back to Paris with a promise not to be too long.

Resigned to the fact that it would take him the best part of two days to get there and two days back, Porthos knew Athos was unlikely to return in less than a week and bore the first few days without him patiently enough. He felt his absence keenly though, having quickly become accustomed to having Athos at his side, and hoped he would not linger in Paris too long.

But one week slid past, and most of a second, and Porthos became increasingly anxious and impatient. Christmas was less than a week away and he'd been sure Athos would return before now. He started worrying that something had befallen him on the road, or that he'd decided not to come back after all. What would he have to look forward to here after all, a remote house, grieving occupants, and a screaming baby? 

Porthos wasn't the only one eager for Athos to return, and one evening Marie crawled up into his lap as he sat by the fire.

"When is Uncle Athos coming back?" she asked, hiding her face in his shoulder as if braced for disappointment.

"I don't know," Porthos admitted. "Soon."

"He is coming?" 

Porthos nodded. "He promised." He stroked her hair fondly. "You like him, don't you?" Marie nodded vigorously, and Porthos smiled. "Me too," he said softly. "Me too."

\--

Two nights before Christmas, Porthos was thinking about going to bed when all of a sudden the dogs started barking outside. A moment later he heard the sound of hooves in the cobbled yard, and muted voices as his steward went out to investigate.

Porthos was already halfway to the door when it opened to admit Athos, looking weary and travel-stained but smiling.

"Athos!" Porthos pulled him into a relieved hug, then recoiled slightly. "You're all wet?"

"It's snowing," Athos said, pulling off his cloak and shaking it. "Not so much here, but it was really starting to come down when I left Paris. I came right here, I was afraid it I stopped for the night I'd get snowed up."

"You've been riding all day?" Porthos took the wet cloak from him and ushered him into the warm parlour. "You must be exhausted."

"A little saddle-sore," Athos admitted with a smile.

There was a drumming of hurried feet on the stairs and Marie burst in behind them, flinging herself at Athos. He swung her up into his arms, laughing. "Well, and what do we have here?"

"You're supposed to be asleep!" Porthos scolded her.

"I was looking out," she confessed shamelessly. "I have every night."

"Better than a guard dog," Athos said, and they bared their teeth at each other, making growling noises. Porthos watched them, smiling helplessly and feeling the weight he'd been carrying without realising since Athos left finally dissipate.

"Come on you," Porthos said finally. "Back to bed. You can annoy Athos in the morning, let him rest now."

Finally Marie was pried loose and reluctantly despatched back upstairs. Porthos settled Athos by the fire and fetched him wine and something to eat himself, rather than disturb the household staff who'd already retired for the night.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come back," Athos said, when he'd eaten his fill and was comfortably dried out. "D'Artagnan was reluctant to see me go, and once the children realised I wouldn't be back for Christmas they insisted on having a practise run." He smiled at the memory, but Porthos felt suddenly guilty. Athos had been a much greater part of d'Artagnan's family life than his.

"Have I been selfish?" Porthos asked quietly. "Would you rather have stayed with them?"

Athos frowned at him, and reached over to pat his hand. "There is no place I would rather be, than here right now," he promised. "Besides, you're right, there's hordes of them. I'll hardly be missed."

"I doubt that," Porthos smiled, but Athos' reassurances meant he felt slightly better about it. 

"Your bedroom's all made up ready and waiting for you," Porthos told him, when they'd finished off the bottle between them, and Athos was stifling a yawn every other minute. "But I'm afraid it'll be rather cold in there, the fire's not been lit since I didn't know when to expect you." He hesitated. "If you'd prefer - you could come in with me?" 

Athos considered the offer. "That would be kind. But I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be." Porthos retorted. "You'd be doing me a favour and keeping me warm."

"Well. Alright then. If you're sure?"

Delighted, Porthos ushered him up to bed. With the snow falling in earnest now, they settled down for the night. 

\--

Porthos had always been a cuddler, and Athos wasn't in the least surprised to wake up the following morning with an arm around his waist and warm breath snuffling against the back of his neck. Porthos though was a great deal more embarrassed when he woke up, and wriggled back hastily, full of apologies.

Athos smirked at him. "You haven't changed. Why do you assume I have? I don't mind."

"What do you mean?" Porthos asked, feeling hot and awkwardly flustered. It helped that Athos didn't seem to be bothered, but it was still embarrassing.

"Sooner or later you always did end up draped over whoever you were sharing with," Athos reminded him. "Aramis and I used to compare notes."

"What are you talking about?" Porthos stared at him.

Athos shrugged. "Just that. Occasionally there were wagers. How long it would take you. What position whoever was sleeping with you would wake up in. That sort of thing." He gave a silent laugh as another memory came back to him. "I don't suppose you recall the first time you shared a bed with d'Artagnan?"

Porthos shook his head. "Not especially."

Athos' smile widened. "He does. I suppose it was unkind of us really, but neither Aramis nor I warned him. In the morning he was all wide-eyed and you could tell he wanted to ask us something, but didn't really like to." Athos snorted. "I was asking him all sorts of leading questions like did he sleep well, completely straight-faced, and he was getting more and more uncomfortable. Of course Aramis spoiled it all by starting to laugh, and gave the game away." 

Porthos gave him an uncertain smile. To discover he'd been talked about without knowing was an odd feeling. Athos caught and read his expression.

"We were never laughing at you, I promise," he said quietly. "Nobody minded. It was rather nice, at least I thought so."

Porthos nodded, accepting his words and relaxing again. "It's funny," he mused. "How you can live with people for so many years, and there still be things you didn't know."

For some reason it was Athos' turn to look a little uncomfortable. "Yes," he said vaguely, and climbed out of the bed. "Look," he said, pulling back the drapes and changing the subject at the same time. "Everywhere's white." 

Porthos came over and peered through the glass. A thick layer of snow had built up on the windowsill, and as far as the eye could see the landscape was white, with just the occasional black smudges of trees and walls, like charcoal lines defining an otherwise blank canvas.

"Good thing I didn't stop for the night," Athos murmured. "I'd never have got through in this."

"I hope d'Artagnan's not expecting you back any time soon?" Porthos said, blatantly fishing. "This stuff can sit for weeks out here."

Athos shook his head. "I said I'd be away for a while. And he seems to be getting on perfectly well without me." He gave Porthos a rueful smile. "Makes me wonder how long I've been fooling myself that I was needed."

Porthos frowned at him. "Just because somebody's perfectly capable of doing something by themselves, doesn't mean they wouldn't rather be doing it with you." He poked Athos in the arm and grinned. "Anyway, he's had you to himself for years. Now it's my turn."

Athos smiled at him. "It's nice to be wanted," he said softly.

\--

For the next couple of months, life carried on quietly and pleasantly enough. The snows lasted well into January, but there was enough food and firewood to see them through, and to ensure nobody in the village went without. 

When the thaw came, and the first green shoots appeared there was a tangible feeling of release and a sense of new beginnings. Savouring the fresh air and the sunshine, the round of planting and sowing felt like a pleasure rather than a chore, especially now Porthos had Athos to share the burden with. Athos had once or twice made noises about returning to Paris, but Porthos always changed the subject, and Athos had never pressed the matter.

Hard work in the fresh air and cosy evenings by the fire meant the cycle of days had a comforting rhythm to them, and at night with the temperatures still well down, Athos and Porthos had remained in the habit of sharing a bed. 

\--

Returning from an engagement in the village one afternoon in March, Porthos was slightly concerned to see a group of people gathered in the paddock. They were focussed on a small figure huddled on the ground, and as he got closer Porthos realised with a shock of cold fear that it was Marie.

Having confidently left her in Athos' care while he attended to business Porthos couldn't imagine what had happened, but spurred his horse on anxiously. Reaching the fence he used his dismounting height to leap right over into the field, and didn't miss the nervous looks several of his estate staff gave his arrival. But it was Athos who stepped forward from the small crowd, looking tense. 

"Porthos."

"What's happened?" Porthos strode past him, intent on his daughter. To his relief she was sitting up, but her face was tearstained, and she was clutching her arm.

"Marie - had a slight fall," Athos admitted. 

"A fall? From what?" Porthos demanded, staring at him. "And what's wrong with her arm?"

Athos hesitated. "I think it might be broken."

"What?!" Porthos dropped to the grass beside her. "Marie? Are you alright? What happened sweetheart?"

Marie gulped back tears, gave a brief, desperate look at Athos, and shook her head.

"I let her sit on my horse," Athos said quietly. "I'm sorry Porthos, it was a stupid thing to do. I only took my eye off her for a second - "

"You what?" Porthos surged back to his feet and glared at Athos incredulously. "You let a six year old girl ride your flaming horse?"

"Not ride. Just - sit on," Athos said awkwardly. 

"Oh, well, that's alright then," Porthos shouted. "Because you know, if you'd let her ride it she might have done something stupid like fall off it!"

Athos flinched but said nothing. On the ground Marie started crying again, and Porthos looked down at her with agonised bewilderment.

"I'm sorry - " Athos started, but Porthos rounded on him, bunching his fist in the front of Athos' shirt.

"Sorry? I should bloody think so!" 

Athos made no move to pull away or defend himself, and Porthos let him go again in disgust. 

"What the hell were you thinking? She's a little girl Athos, not one of your soldiers - not even one of d'Artagnan's sons. I trusted you to look after her!"

Athos went white. "I'm sorry - " he tried again, but Porthos was beside himself. 

"Sorry's not going to mend her arm, is it? Sorry's not going to dry her tears?" 

"You're right. I let you down - I let her down. Maybe I should just go," Athos said tightly. 

"Yeah? Maybe you should!" Porthos shot back harshly. "Maybe you've done enough!"

Athos said nothing, but gave a stiff bow and started walking back towards the house. Porthos stared after him in frustration, then crouched back down beside Marie.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he said helplessly. 

"Don't shout at Athos," she mumbled, wiping away tears with the back of her good hand. "It wasn't his fault. I begged him to let me sit on her, I begged him all morning, he didn't want to let me. I should have held on better."

Porthos shook his head at her, exasperated. "What am I going to do with you?" 

Marie stared back at him, miserable but determined. "It was my fault," she whispered. "You can punish me if you want. But don't be angry with Athos."

"Athos should never have said yes," Porthos growled. "I thought he knew better than to give in to your pestering." He sighed. "Nobody's going to punish you. Come on, let's get you inside and see about strapping that arm, eh?"

\--

By the time the doctor had been summoned and Marie had had her arm securely splinted and been fussed over by the whole household it was getting dark. 

It was only then that it occurred to Porthos that he hadn't seen Athos since they came inside, and he glowered briefly, thinking that Athos could at least have damn well come to see how she was. 

Porthos was in the study throwing back a much-needed brandy when Marie appeared in the doorway. To Porthos' alarm she was crying again, and he held his arms out to her.

"What's wrong darling? Does it hurt?" He'd left her in the kitchens being doted on by Madame Ricard, and had been struck by how bravely she'd coped with all of it.

"You can't let him leave. Father, you can't!"

"Eh? What are you talking about?" Porthos frowned at her, lost.

"Athos! He's leaving!"

"What? No he isn't, what's given you that idea?" 

"He is, he's leaving, he's packing his things, father tell him he doesn't have to go, please, you have to!"

"What do you mean he's - " Porthos suddenly remembered how he'd shouted at Athos outside in the heat of the moment, and froze. "Did you say he's packing?"

"Yes, I told you!" Marie gave him a shove. "Do something!"

Porthos hurried upstairs. He found Athos in the dressing room, and sure enough he was folding shirts into his travelling bag. He looked up as Porthos came in, then looked away again.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Porthos demanded.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Athos said stiffly. "You asked me to leave, I'm leaving."

"Oh don't be a - " Porthos broke off, staring at him. "I didn't mean it," he blurted. "I didn't mean _that_." 

"Nevertheless. You're right, it's time I went. I have clearly overstayed my welcome, and I apologise." Athos made to slide another shirt into his bag, and Porthos grabbed it from him and threw it back into the chest. 

"Don't be stupid. What's the world coming to, eh, when a bloke can't lose his shit without being taken seriously?" Porthos stammered. "I didn't mean it Athos, I was scared, I was worried she was really hurt, I didn't know what I was saying. You can't go. Not like this. Please." 

Athos finally cautiously met his eyes and some of the rigid tension went out of him.

"Don't go," Porthos repeated softly. "I'm sorry, I said stupid things, I didn't mean them. I shouldn't have. Forgive me."

"Everything you said was justified," Athos whispered. "You're right, I was responsible for her, and it was my fault. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. If I thought I deserved it, I would." 

"Athos - " Porthos took him by the shoulders. "I forgive you. Okay? I fucking forgive you. I trust you, God, Athos, I trust you with my life. I trust you with my children's lives. Of course I do. Don't go?"

Athos looked conflicted. "It's really time I went - "

"No. You can't. Marie needs you."

Athos gave a bitter laugh. "Marie needs a governess. And someone more responsible than me."

"Alright, fine, _I_ need you. I need you Athos." Porthos stared at him, willing Athos to hear the truth in his words. 

"You want to know, why I worked so hard? Why I was taking on every little job on the estate when I could have left it to others? It's because I was lonely, Athos. I was working myself into exhaustion, so all I'd have to do every day when I came home was fall into bed. So I wasn't having to sit on my own, night after night, with no one to talk to, no one to share things with. You being here - you've given me a reason to start living again."

Athos looked shaken. "You could move back to Paris?" he said faintly. 

Porthos shook his head. "I considered that," he admitted. "But when I took on this estate, I accepted a responsibility. To the land here, to the tenants. One day Marie and Francis will take that on, and I want them to grow up here. I want them to know and care about the people who'll depend on them."

"Oh Porthos." Athos reached out to him, and Porthos took his hands.

"Will you stay?"

"Of course I will." 

They embraced, both men shaking with relief and emotion. 

"I'm sorry," Athos breathed, and Porthos kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm sorry too." 

They finally pulled apart, laughing self-consciously. 

"You'll really stay?" Porthos checked. 

Athos nodded. "I'll have to go one day though," he pointed out. "I can hardly stay forever."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean why not?"

"Why can't you stay forever? What have you got to go back to, in Paris?"

"Oh, thank you," said Athos dryly, but Porthos waved it away.

"You know what I meant. Stay here, Athos. Move in. Permanently. Run the place with me, hell, raise the children with me." He gazed pleadingly into Athos' startled eyes. "I need you Athos. Stay with me?" he whispered.

"I - well, I - " Athos faltered, at a loss. 

"There's plenty of room," Porthos pointed out. "The place is much too big for just me. You could have the whole east wing to yourself if you wanted, it's mostly shut up."

Athos half-laughed. "It feels like I've spent half my life living out of one room in the garrison, I hardly need a whole wing."

Porthos smiled at him. "Just saying. If you did."

"You're serious?" Athos frowned.

"Yeah." Porthos nodded. "Look, I mean think about it. You don't have to decide now."

Athos shook his head slowly. "I don't need to think about it," he said. "Yes. Alright, yes."

"You'll stay?" Porthos asked, a wild hope rising in his chest. "For good?" 

Athos nodded. "I'll stay," he confirmed, laughing now as Porthos pulled him into a fierce hug. "For you, I'll stay."

Their embrace was interrupted by a small figure suddenly appearing in the doorway as Marie hurled herself at their legs.

Athos bent and picked her up, careful of her arm.

"Hello there."

"Are you staying? Are you really staying?" she demanded, and he nodded.

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Athos kissed her curls and touched her bandaged wrist with a light finger. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Does it hurt?"

Marie shrugged. "A bit," she admitted.

"Would you like us to kiss it better?" Porthos asked, and she promptly held it out for both of them to solemnly drop a kiss onto her bandages.

"Better?" Porthos checked, then smiled when she nodded. "You know," he said to Athos, "someone not a million miles away was telling me how she nagged you into letting her on that horse." He sighed. "You didn't tell me that, did you?"

Athos looked uncomfortable. "I was still responsible for her. It doesn't make it any less my fault."

"Well look at it this way, you won't do it again, will you?" Porthos said practically, and slung his arm round Athos' shoulders. "Either of you. Now, I don't know about anyone else, but I reckon people with busted arms deserve cake for supper, what do you think?" Marie nodded vigorously, and he laughed. "Yeah, thought so. What does Uncle Athos think?"

Athos looked at him, suddenly very aware of the warm weight of Marie in his arms and the solid reassurance of Porthos' arm around his shoulders, and smiled.

"I think cake has never sounded better."

\--

Athos stayed. When the days drew out a little and the weather turned a little warmer, he briefly returned to Paris for a second time, to collect those belongings left in storage at the garrison. 

This time Porthos accompanied him, taking the opportunity to catch up with d'Artagnan for the first time in years. Much to her disgust, Marie was left behind in the care of Madame Ricard.

"It doesn't seem much, as the accumulation of a lifetime's possessions," Athos observed, when it turned out the sum of his effects came to no more than one small cartload.

"Well, you started out with more," Porthos pointed out. "You just set fire to it."

"That wasn't me!" Athos said indignantly, giving him an amused shove. "Although I confess, I can hardly bring myself to regret it."

"I'm sorry," Porthos murmured, and Athos looked at him questioningly. "You gave up one estate and its responsibilities," Porthos explained. "And now here I am making you take on another one."

Their first order of business upon reaching Paris had been to draw up legal papers that gave Athos the right to act on Porthos' behalf or in his absence, with regards matters of the household accounts and estate.

"It's alright," Athos smiled. "Perhaps I've grown up a little since then."

"Took you long enough," Porthos grinned, and they jostled each other as they walked.

There had been another paper drawn up that morning, that they didn't speak of. In the event of anything happening to Porthos, it named Athos as the legal guardian of Marie and Francis, and allowed Athos to hold and run the estate in trust for them, until such time as they came of age. 

Porthos had ventured to raise the matter, which had been on his mind, once they had ridden far enough to be safely out of range of the sharp ears of inquisitive girl-children. Athos had agreed, quietly and without fuss. They had both seen enough death to treat the possibility with practicality, but once it was settled neither saw the need to refer to it again. 

They spent a week in Paris, at d'Artagnan's insistence staying with him in his house near the garrison, then on the way home made a detour to drop in on Aramis and spent another couple of days with him at the Abbey. Delighted to see them both, he was also pleased to note how much better Porthos was looking than the last time he'd seen him. 

That had been on the occasion of Nanette's funeral, and Aramis had been privately concerned by how physically and emotionally shaken his friend had seemed. When he'd later received the welcome news that Athos had come to stay with Porthos he'd been considerably relieved, and to learn now that the arrangement had been made permanent was an occasion for much rejoicing.

With the weather turning for the worse, Athos and Porthos reluctantly took their leave of him and made their way homewards. The cart with Athos' possessions had arrived several days ahead of them and he stowed them neatly away with a pleasant sense of belonging. 

Despite the rain the nights were becoming warmer, and Athos had wondered if it would be polite to take his leave of Porthos' bed at this point and return to his own room, but before he could suggest it Porthos had firmly and pointedly made space for him amidst his own things. Without a word being spoken the matter seemed settled, and thereafter Athos remained a fixture in his room. 

\--


	4. Chapter 4

A wet spring turned into a long hot summer, endless days of blue sky and sunshine interspersed with occasional thunderstorms that would creep up on them over the hills before unleashing their sudden ferocity over the house.

When harvest time came around everyone mucked in, working out in the fields from dawn to dusk to gather the crops in safely before the next rainstorm decided to hit. But the weather stayed blessedly dry for two whole weeks and on the final day there was an atmosphere of jubilant celebration. A picnic in the fields was planned for the evening once the heat of the sun had passed over, and the last of the sheaves were being stacked.

Having laboured solidly for two weeks without mishap, it was typically on the homeward stretch that Porthos, helping in one of the barns, managed to slip off a ladder whilst hurling a hay bundle into the loft. Fortunately he hadn't been that high up to begin with, but he hit the stone flags with a smack, and his agonised bellowing was enough to bring Athos running from two buildings away.

"What have you done now you idiot?" Athos scolded, helping him into a sitting position. That Porthos was making such a lot of noise he took as a good sign that it was nothing too drastic, but he was clearly in pain.

"I think I've put my shoulder out," Porthos panted. "It's always been a bit weak." He swallowed, his face bathed in sweat. "You'll have to help me get it back in, if you will?"

Athos nodded grimly, helping Porthos to his feet and leading him out of the barn with a solicitous arm around him. Reaching a secluded corner of the courtyard away from prying eyes, Porthos leant against a wooden beam and braced himself.

"Ready?" Athos asked, running deft fingers over his shoulder to establish what needed to be done, and wincing at where the skin was distorted at an unnatural angle. Porthos took a shuddering breath, gritted his teeth, and nodded.

With a short sharp shock and an unpleasant grinding of bone Athos slammed the joint back into place. Porthos gave a strangled yell of agony, then swayed against the wall feeling faint and sick.

"Okay?" Athos eyed him with concern, but after a second Porthos mastered himself and straightened up, experimentally rotating his shoulder. The pain level had dropped considerably, and he nodded shakily.

"Thank you."

"Come on, let's go inside, I'll strap it up for you," Athos murmured. "There's not much left to be done here, no one'll miss us."

Docile, Porthos let Athos herd him indoors and up to the bedroom, where Athos stripped him carefully of his shirt. There was a dressing table and mirror in one corner that had once been Nanette's pride and joy and whose surface was now scattered with a confusion of items that both men had discarded there. Athos made Porthos sit down on the stool, so he could see what he was doing from behind and also in the reflection. 

"This'll teach you to be more careful," Athos observed, pouring a little medicinal oil into his palms and smoothing them over Porthos' shoulder. The scent of rosemary filled the room, and Porthos sighed.

"I keep forgetting I'm not as young as I was," he admitted. "Time was I could have hurled a man up that ladder, never mind a hay bale."

Athos smiled, letting his hands work the oil into Porthos' skin, knowing the massage would help with the pain as much as the infusion would.

"We're none of us as young as we were," he said softly. "But we're still here, and there was a time when I never expected to be." 

"True." Porthos smiled at him in the mirror, then closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the motion of Athos' hands. It relaxed both of them, and by the time Athos had strapped Porthos' shoulder up comfortably, Porthos' eyelids were drooping. 

"Can I ask you something?" he said sleepily, watching Athos in the glass.

"Of course."

"Are you happy here?"

Athos met his eyes in the mirror, then in a gesture of unexpected affection he leaned forward with his arms around Porthos' chest and hugged him from behind. "Yes," he said quietly. "Very."

Porthos turned his head slightly to smile at him in surprise, and for a second they rested their heads together, cheek to cheek.

There was a moment when it seemed as if both of them were about to speak, but each held back to allow the other to go first, and before either could get a word out the door swung open to admit Marie.

Athos straightened up and turned to her with a smile, and she ran over and climbed up into Porthos' lap.

"Everyone's getting ready for the feast," she declared, and Porthos tugged affectionately at her curls, glad she didn't seem to be aware he'd been hurt.

"Oh, and are we late? Good of you to give us fair warning, to get there before you've eaten everything."

They laughed at her squeals of indignation, and chased her out again with promises not to be too far behind.

"Don't think I'll be sitting her on my shoulders tonight," Porthos said ruefully, as Athos helped him into a clean shirt.

"Then she'll just have to sit on mine," Athos said, and Porthos smiled at him.

"I'm glad you're here, you know," he said, leaning back against one of the posts of the bed watching Athos set about changing his own shirt for the festivities.

Athos smiled back at him. "Me too," he said softly. "Me too." 

\--

A week after the harvest the house was caught up in another celebration, with the dawning of Francis' first birthday. He sat happily gurgling in the midst of the gifts showered on him from every member of the household, oblivious to the reason but enjoying being the centre of so much attention.

For most of the day Athos kept an eye on Marie, careful to ensure she didn't start feeling too left out. Her own birthday had fallen at the start of the summer, and he'd bought her a child-sized tea set of real china, ordered from Paris. Consequently he found himself sitting with her at the back of the room eating cake from a tiny plate and suffering with good humour the succession of appalling hats she was placing on his head in her search to find a favourite. 

It was some time before he noticed Porthos was missing from the room. Assuming he'd just stepped out to answer a call of nature, Athos didn't think too much of it, but when an hour had passed and Porthos hadn't returned, he got to his feet. Leaving Marie to start inflicting hats on her baby brother instead under the watchful eye of Agathe and Madame Ricard, he went to look for him.

Half an hour later Athos had come to the inescapable conclusion that Porthos was nowhere in the house. Puzzled, he wandered out to the stables, but the grooms there hadn't seen him either.

It had been a dry, bright day, but the sun was just starting to slide down behind the hills and there was a chill in the air. Enjoying the fresh air after the fug of the parlour, Athos wandered down the path towards the village, wondering now if Porthos had been called away to deal with some dispute or other. 

Passing the churchyard he glanced over the wall and came to an abrupt halt. Porthos was sitting beside Nanette's grave, legs crossed and head bowed. It was clear he'd been there for some time.

Athos hesitated, then pushed through the gate and walked slowly over to him. The evening was cold now, and he slipped his own cloak from his shoulders and draped it around Porthos before sinking to the grass next to him.

Porthos gave him a sideways look, a slight smile of gratitude on his lips for the gesture.

"I'm sorry," Athos sighed. "I should have made the connection before. I should have _thought_. I'm a dunce."

Porthos shook his head. "No you're not."

"A year."

"Yeah." Porthos nodded heavily, fingers tracing the inscribed date of death on the gravestone. Today's date. 

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, then Porthos sighed. "I came to ask her forgiveness," he said quietly.

Athos looked at him with compassion. "What happened wasn't your fault, you know," he said, but Porthos shook his head.

"No. Not for that. For something else."

Athos frowned. "What, then?"

Porthos looked at him and briefly lifted his hand to cup Athos' cheek. His fingers were cold, stroking fleetingly across the skin, then he dropped his hand again and shook his head. "Nothing. It doesn't matter. Come on, let's go home, it's freezing out here."

He got to his feet and pulled Athos up after him. Together they started walking back towards the house. Athos didn't wish to pry, but neither did he like the idea that something was troubling Porthos.

"If you ever need to talk about anything," he ventured, "I'm always here you know." 

Porthos took a moment before replying, but slipped his arm through Athos' as they walked.

"Thank you," he said. "But ignore me. It's just been an emotional day, that's all." Porthos set his shoulders and took a deep breath, throwing off the melancholy mood of a moment before with a visible effort. 

"So is it too much to hope there's any cake left?"

Athos smiled. "I happen to know Madame Ricard has a second one hidden in the kitchen. And I also happen to know it has a considerable amount of brandy in it."

Porthos' rather forced smile turned into a genuine grin. "See, the day's looking up already!"

\--

A couple of weeks passed, and while Porthos never revealed what had been on his mind that day, Athos was relieved to find that he now seemed in good spirits. In fact to a certain extent Porthos acted as if a weight had been lifted from him, and Athos supposed that the anniversary of Nanette's death had been one last heavy milestone to get out of the way. Whatever he'd been asking absolution for, it seemed clear that Porthos felt he'd received it.

It was Porthos' birthday next, and he insisted on celebrating in style. The previous year the day had passed barely remarked, coming so soon after his bereavement and with a new and rather sickly baby son to worry about. This year he was determined to make up for it and threw a feast for the whole village, providing barrels of wine and cider and three whole roasted pigs. 

"Show off," Athos murmured, leaning rather drunkenly against him as they stood enjoying the warmth of the enormous bonfire. "Most people wait until winter for this sort of posturing."

Porthos, equally as inebriated if not more so, snaked an arm around Athos' waist and grinned at him. "What's the point in being lord of the manor if you can't live to ridiculous excess occasionally?"

It was late, and all the children had long been chased off to bed. Hardly able to keep their own eyes open, the two men finally made their way home, leaning on each other for support and having to stop at least twice to piss in the hedge. 

Having reached the bedroom Porthos promptly managed to trip over his own breeches whilst trying to take them off and went sprawling headfirst across the floor. Athos, who was already in bed, started laughing too hard to be of any assistance whatsoever, and Porthos crawled up next to him grumbling and reluctantly starting to laugh himself.

"I think I preferred you as a morose young man," Porthos growled, trying to pull his nightshirt over his head and getting it twisted.

"Did you really?" Athos enquired, straightening it out for him, and starting to splutter with laughter again as Porthos' head popped out of the neck like a startled owl from a tree hole.

"No." Porthos relented and smiled at him. "I like you happy."

"Good," said Athos, settling down against the pillows. "So do I." He looked up at Porthos, all sleepy and relaxed. "You make me happy," he added softly.

Porthos beamed at him, wriggling down under the covers next to him. "Unlimited wine and a roast pig. Tell me that's not the secret to happiness," he declared, stifling a yawn.

"Or a warm bed and a warmer friend," Athos teased, as Porthos flopped down against him in a bid to get comfortable. 

"Oh I'm sorry, am I making you too hot?" Porthos asked innocently, immediately burrowing closer and making Athos laugh.

"You're a beast," Athos smiled, although he made no move to push Porthos away again. 

"You'd better believe it." Porthos was draped half across him now, and they looked at each other, suddenly becoming aware of how close they were, how intimate this felt.

For a moment there was just the sound of their breathing, a loaded few seconds where they stared into each other's eyes, silently saying everything and nothing.

Porthos moved first, lowering his head to brush his lips lightly against Athos' mouth. As soon as he'd done it he pulled back, horrified at himself, but before he could stutter an apology Athos had leaned in and kissed him back.

They stared at each other again, both wide-eyed and breathing considerably harder than they had been a moment ago. This was - unthinkable. And yet, perhaps because both of them were so drunk, there was virtually no thinking involved. This was instinct, and need, and want.

They came together again in a hard clash of lips and tongue, no tentative brush of mouths this time. Hungry, desperate, shuddering with the transgressive thrill of it they kissed each other breathless and then kissed some more, until their lips were sore and their heads were spinning.

"We'll go straight to hell for this," Porthos said with a low hoarse laugh. It was the first words either of them had uttered.

"Then at least we'll go together." Athos wrapped his hand around the back of Porthos' head to pull him into another kiss, and for a long time there was no more talking.

Eventually they pulled apart from each other, dizzy with the shock of what they'd done, but at the same time neither yet considering the consequences. 

Exhausted by the combination of strong drink and stronger emotion they at last lay down to sleep, each making sure their lower body was angled away from the other with such overly-careful drunken concentration that neither noticed the other was having to do the same thing. 

\--

In the morning Athos woke with a pounding head, a dry mouth and a crushing sense of impending doom. He couldn't locate the reason for the nebulous unease until he uncurled from the rather achy ball he'd been sleeping in and locked eyes with Porthos on the other side of the bed.

Porthos was sitting up watching him with an expression somewhere between self-loathing and despair, and suddenly it all came flooding back. All those heated kisses that had seemed such a good idea after God knows how many bottles of wine.

He sat up slowly, half from wariness and half because it felt like his head was about to fall off.

"Porthos." Voice scratchy from a rough throat, but his tone neutral, waiting to see which way Porthos would jump. His expression promised nothing good, but there was at least no anger there, and Athos prayed they were both sensible enough to weather this.

"I owe you an apology," Porthos mumbled, dropping his gaze.

"What for?" They were each as culpable in Athos' book, but Porthos frowned with a flash of irritation, taking it as Athos being disingenuous.

"You know what for."

Athos hesitated, wishing Porthos would look up again. It was harder to guess what he was thinking when he couldn't see his eyes. "Do you regret it then?"

That did make Porthos look up, almost in shock. Athos could see the thoughts passing like clouds behind his eyes, as he considered his response. If he said yes, Athos would apologise himself. Would - have to - offer to leave.

But Porthos had never been a coward, and it wasn't in his nature to be dishonest. 

"No." He barely breathed it, rigid with tension, but at the same time a knot eased inside Athos.

"Good." A whisper, just as quiet. 

They stared at each other, and then Athos jerked forward and kissed Porthos on the lips, a sudden peck that startled both of them. 

Perhaps if Athos had stayed to talk they could have worked through the whole tangled mess there and then, but the kiss had taken the last of his fragile resolve and immediately afterwards he fled both the bed and the room, leaving Porthos staring after him in conflicted confusion.

\--

Feeling awkward and off-kilter, they remained at odds with each other all day. Somehow every little disagreement turned into a full-scale argument, until things came to a head in the evening when all the bottled up tension finally spilled over into a blazing row.

Yelling at each other felt guiltily good, and they'd been hurling abuse and accusations at each other for some time when Marie burst in on them almost in tears.

"Stop it. _Stop it!_ " 

"Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry, we don't mean it." Immediately wracked with remorse, Porthos held out his arms, but she ran right past him and clung to Athos' legs. 

"You won't leave will you? You're not allowed to leave."

It struck them both belatedly that the only other time Marie had heard them shout at each other had resulted in Athos immediately packing his things.

Athos squatted down and put his arms around her. "I won't leave," he promised, hugging her close. He looked up at Porthos and met his eyes. "I won't ever leave."

Porthos nodded, silent acknowledgement that he understood Athos was talking to him as much as Marie.

"I'm sorry kitten," he said, crouching down as well, to dry her tears and stroke her hair. "We didn't mean to upset you. We're not really angry with each other." Glancing at Athos, hoping he was right.

"Of course we're not. We were just being stupid. Don't take any notice of us." 

They made a fuss of her until it was time for Marie to go to bed, and both of them went up to tuck her in. 

Coming out of her room they paused in the hallway and looked at each other a little sheepishly. 

"Are we okay?" Porthos asked quietly.

Athos nodded. "Of course we are." 

They exchanged tentative smiles that became stronger as they both accepted that whatever happened, things really were going to be alright between them, and always would be.

Dinner passed in better humour, and by the time they were ready to go to bed themselves, relations were a lot more amiable. It was only as he was getting ready to undress that Athos hesitated.

"Would you prefer it if I...?"

"No!" Porthos interrupted him quickly, then looked anxious. "I mean, unless you'd rather...?"

"No," said Athos in return, and they both relaxed a little.

"That's settled then," Porthos muttered gruffly, and went to climb into the bed.

Athos joined him a minute later and they eyed each other a little awkwardly. 

"Well. Goodnight then," said Athos.

"Yeah. Night." Porthos stared at him, making no move to blow out the candle.

After the silence had stretched out for long enough to become embarrassing, Porthos gave a huff of frustration and moved closer. He checked himself, waiting to see if Athos would move away, but he didn't, instead keeping perfectly still, waiting to see what Porthos intended.

Screwing up his courage Porthos leaned in and gave Athos a chaste kiss on the lips. "Night Athos," he said softly.

Athos smiled at him, and suddenly found he had a huge lump his throat. "Goodnight," he whispered back.

Porthos nodded and turned away, blowing out the candle and lying down. After a second Athos shifted closer until he was resting against Porthos' warm back. Neither of them said anything, but Athos felt the tension gradually ease out of Porthos' body at the simple contact and it wasn't long before they were both fast asleep.

\--

Somehow, it became a nightly ritual. Every evening before blowing out the candle and settling down to sleep, they would turn to each other and exchange a solemn kiss whilst bidding each other goodnight. 

Without exception as kisses went they were all safely innocuous, a touch of lips and nothing more, for a decorously brief second of time. But every chaste press of mouths was followed by a smile, and every smile went a fraction further to weakening the panicked and defensive walls both of them had instinctively thrown up.

One night Porthos had stayed up working on paperwork for tithe returns until gone midnight, and when he finally got to bed Athos was already asleep. He climbed in carefully beside him, but couldn't help the feeling of disappointment that he'd missed out on their now customary goodnight kiss. 

He wondered if Athos had secretly missed it too, or if he'd fallen asleep without giving it a second thought.

In the morning, Porthos was already up and dressed when Athos finally blinked himself awake. Stretching in the half-light, he was surprised when Porthos came over to the bed and bent over to kiss him lightly on the lips before ducking away again and heading rapidly for the door.

"What was that for?" Athos called after him, smiling in bemusement.

Porthos paused in the doorway and looked back. "Just catching up. We missed last night," he admitted, half-afraid that Athos would be scornful. But Athos just smiled at him.

"I can certainly see what makes you such a good book-keeper," was all he said, and Porthos went out laughing.

\--

A couple of months had passed since Porthos' birthday. With the nights noticeably drawing in and the temperature dropping, both men were privately very glad they'd remained in the same bed after all, never more so than the mornings they woke to ice on the inside of the windows.

One evening in particular they escaped to bed early, when despite the fire in the parlour grate it had proved impossible to avoid the howling draughts coming under the door.

Up here it was cosier, with heavy drapes over the window and the crackling fire heating the smaller room more easily. They had furs on the bed to supplement the blankets, and huddled beneath them in search of warmth.

Gradually they thawed out, and despite the early hour were soon pleasantly drowsy. 

"Do you know what today is?" Athos asked suddenly. 

Porthos turned his head to look at him, and frowned. "Well it's not your birthday. And I can't think of anything - no, I give up. What?"

Athos half-smiled. "It's exactly a year since I first arrived here," he said.

"You've been here a whole year?" Porthos echoed, sounding surprised. Athos nodded, and he whistled. "Doesn't feel that long."

"No, it doesn't," Athos agreed.

Porthos studied him covertly for a moment, half-hidden by a fold of the blanket. "No regrets?" he ventured finally.

"None." Athos' answer was immediate and delivered with a smile, and Porthos relaxed, emerging from the cocoon of covers with the intention of blowing out the candle.

Athos too sat up a little, in anticipation of Porthos' goodnight kiss and they almost headbutted each other, swerving away at the last second and laughing.

"Sorry." Porthos gave him a rueful grin, and tried again more carefully. 

They'd done this for weeks now, the same kiss every time, but intentionally or not, tonight Porthos' lips lingered a second longer than usual.

It didn't go unnoticed, and as he pulled away Porthos hesitated, conscious that instead of turning over to go to sleep Athos was looking at him penetratingly. 

Before he could say anything Athos had raised a hand to his cheek, cupping his face gently and leaning in towards him. Porthos caught his breath but didn't pull away as Athos' lips came to rest against his own. 

There was nothing pushy or demanding about the kiss, but Athos let his mouth stay pressed there a good few seconds too long to be accidental.

Athos moved back, and they looked at each other.

"Athos." Porthos' voice was low and shaky. "We can't."

"Why not?" Athos kept his voice just as low. "Who's to know?" He paused. "Do you want to?"

Porthos hung his head, then nodded heavily. "Yes. God forgive me yes, I do." Hesitantly, he looked up again. "Do you?"

"Yes." It was just a breath, but to Porthos it felt like he'd shouted it. Athos swallowed. "Yes, I do."

"Athos - "

"Don't." Athos let his fingers rest lightly against Porthos' mouth. "Let's just - " He leaned in again, and kissed him softly. This time there could be no mistaking his intent, and Porthos willingly yielded to the soft press of his lips.

In contrast to the drunken frenzy of their first kisses, this was slow and sensuous. They gradually relaxed into each other's arms until they were holding each other close, their kisses gaining confidence as each came to accept that despite their fears, the other did really want this as much as they did.

They kissed for a long time, delighting in the discovery of it. They kissed because stopping would mean having to talk about what they were doing, and neither was entirely sure he was ready for that. They kissed because they wanted to, needed to, had to. 

Eventually they had to draw back, draw breath. They lay together, shoulders touching beneath the bedclothes, Athos' right hand clasped in Porthos' left.

"What are we doing?" Porthos asked finally, when it seemed Athos was entirely content to lie there until Judgement Day without discussing anything. "I mean is this just - are we just - ?" He tailed off, hardly knowing how to finish the question, and too afraid of what the answer might be if he did.

Athos moved onto his side, looking at him through unreadable eyes. 

"Honestly?" 

Porthos nodded, although his stomach was clenched in knots.

Athos took a second to reply, moistened dry lips. "I love you," he confessed finally. "I always have."

While his first words had filled Porthos with a flood of joyous relief, the last gave him pause for thought. 

"Like this?" he clarified, thinking that they had certainly all loved each other as brothers, but he was fairly sure that wasn't what Athos had meant.

Athos nodded, a guilty flush spreading across his cheeks. "Like this," he confirmed in a whisper, eyes falling to where their fingers were still entwined.

"You never said anything," Porthos ventured, trying not to sound accusing.

"I hardly imagined you would welcome it," Athos said. He raised his eyes again and gave Porthos a slight smile. "I don't think you would have."

Porthos considered. "Perhaps not," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "I certainly never imagined - this last year - how I would come to feel about you."

"How do you feel?" Athos asked, sounding uncommonly nervous.

Porthos looked at him in surprise, and realised he hadn't told him. He felt like he'd been shouting it from the rooftops with every touch, every glance, every word for months.

"I love you," he said simply. "I love you Athos."

"You do?" Athos' expression changed from one of anxiety to one of dawning hope.

"Of course I do. How could I not?" Porthos gave a guilty laugh. "Do you remember me saying I needed to ask Nanette's forgiveness for something?"

Athos nodded.

"Yeah, well. It was 'cause I'd fallen in love with you," Porthos admitted.

Athos' eyebrows went up. "And it's taken you until now to tell me?"

"What?" Porthos looked defensive. "I didn't think you'd feel the same way, did I? I thought you'd run screaming for the hills if you knew."

"Even after what happened before?" Athos said gently. Porthos looked briefly hunted.

"We were so drunk. I was scared I'd pushed my attentions on you where they weren't welcome. I was so afraid you'd leave. But then you promised to stay, and you always kissed me goodnight, and, oh, I don't know. I was so confused. I wanted you, but I didn't think I could ever have you. Not like that. And I'd have settled for goodnight kisses for the rest of my life, if it only meant I could stay with you."

It was a long speech by Porthos' normal standards, and he sounded so sad and bewildered that Athos took him back into his arms.

"Hush now," Athos told him, kissing him softly on the temple. "It's alright. I promise. It's not too late. We can be together, if that's what you want."

"Do you mean that?" Porthos asked wonderingly. Athos nodded, but Porthos promptly looked despairing again. "But how can we be together? What you're suggesting - it's illegal - immoral - unthinkable."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "You're making it sound like more fun every minute."

Porthos spluttered with guilty laughter, and Athos squeezed him tight. 

"No one can know," Athos conceded. "I'm not saying that. It would be stupid, if not actively suicidal to be too blatant about it. But let's face it, we've already been sharing a bed for the best part of a year. Nothing needs to change from anybody else's point of view."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Porthos protested.

Athos sighed. "I've had a lifetime to come to terms with the way I feel. I never thought any of it could be more than a guilty fantasy, but I've had years to resign myself to being this way. You've had, what, a couple of months?"

Porthos looked decidedly shifty, but didn't contradict him. "Do you mean it then?" he repeated in a small voice, as if Athos might only have been cruelly teasing.

Athos tilted Porthos' face up to look at him and kissed him on the lips. 

"I mean it," he said. "Be mine, Porthos. In whatever way makes you happy. Be mine."

Porthos cradled Athos' face between his hands and kissed him back fervently. 

"I'm yours," he said, voice husky and full of emotion. "I'm yours, Athos."

Athos held him close, arms tight around Porthos' chest, resting their heads together. "And I am yours," he promised. "Always."

They kissed again, half-laughing at themselves for such a ridiculous display of emotion, but cleaving to each other nonetheless.

"So." Porthos took a deep breath to steady himself, thumbing away the suspicion of a tear at the corner of his eye. "What happens now?"

"Anything you like." Athos looked sideways at him with a mischievous glint in his eye. "But I would suggest we start by locking the door."

Porthos looked startled, staring at him in something like scandalised alarm. Athos feared he'd gone too far, but before he could retract his words with something more reassuring, Porthos had thrown back the covers and gone to do as he suggested.

The walls of the old house were thick and the only other people sleeping on this floor were Marie, Francis and Agathe at the far end of the passage, but it never hurt to be careful, particularly given Marie's tendency to burst through doors unannounced.

There was a certain awkwardness to his gait as Porthos crossed the room to turn the key in the lock, and when he turned back towards the bed Athos could see why. The front of his nightshirt was pushed out obscenely over his groin.

Athos, who'd been at least half-hard himself, found he was abruptly stiff as a board. 

Porthos came back towards the bed but hesitated before getting in, as if ashamed of his state and knowing that Athos could hardly have failed to notice. 

"Come here." Athos pushed the blankets back far enough for Porthos to see he was in the same condition, and held out his arms.

Porthos sank into them gratefully, and as they kissed once more, this time they pressed together with no attempt at hiding their arousal.

"May I touch you?" Athos breathed. He hadn't been at all sure that Porthos would want to do any more than kissing, but things seemed to be moving rapidly past that.

Porthos gave a jerky nod, and Athos let his hand come to rest over the bulge in his nightshirt. Porthos let out a long breath, his eyes wide, but he instinctively pushed into the touch and Athos rubbed him gently through the cotton.

Satisfied that Porthos, however dumbstruck, seemed okay with the way things were going, Athos moved his hand lower and slipped it under the hem and between Porthos' legs. Burrowing up beneath the material, Athos took Porthos' cock into his hand, stroking his palm along the firm shaft.

"Oh - ohhh." By now Porthos' eyes were almost comical and he was by turns gasping and holding his breath.

"Is this alright?" Athos murmured. He was fairly certain Porthos' reaction was one of pleasure, but it didn't hurt to be sure. 

Porthos nodded again convulsively and Athos smiled, stroking him slowly and firmly. After a minute or so Porthos seemed to realise that this was all rather one sided and shook himself, although it took him two attempts to speak.

"Would you like me to - you know?" He gestured awkwardly at Athos' crotch.

"I'd love for you to," Athos whispered, promptly blushing a dark shade of pink as Porthos' hand fumbled its way up inside his nightshirt to take hold of him in turn. 

Hampered by the heavy cotton and now two clashing arms, after a moment they rearranged themselves, pulling their nightshirts up around their waists and settling into a more comfortable position where they weren't having to reach round each other.

The early embarrassment faded as the minutes went by and they became accustomed to the act of pleasuring each other. In this new position they discovered they could kiss each other as well, and took full advantage of the fact.

Fists sliding on hot slippery flesh, panting into each other's mouths, they came within seconds of each other, groaning in completion, hands wet with each other's release.

They leaned against each other for a while, getting their breath back. To their relief they found there was no awkwardness after the event, just a mutual glow of contentment. They cleaned themselves up and settled back down in the bed, tucked together in a sleepy embrace and exchanging kisses like promises.

"Have you ever - been with anyone else like this?" Porthos asked after a while, hoping the question wasn't too intrusive, but curious. "A man, I mean?"

Athos shook his head. "I never dared," he said softly. "We had so many enemies, over the years - if any of them had caught the slightest scent of something like that - I have no doubt it would have been the end of me."

Porthos hugged him closer, knowing Athos was right, but feeling protective and indignant. He himself had had numerous lovers, and couldn't imagine what a celibate life would have been like. Although, presumably, Athos' hadn't been entirely celibate.

"Can I ask - with Milady - ?" Porthos ventured, wondering if he was pushing his luck but assuming Athos would simply refuse to answer anything he found uncomfortable.

It was a while before Athos spoke. "I did love her," he said softly. "But we should never have married. It was the undoing of both of us. I thought I was executing my duty, in taking a wife. Instead I ended up executing her."

"You didn't, though," Porthos reminded him.

"I thought I had. It amounts to the same thing." Athos sighed, and Porthos kissed him on the side of the head.

"Well, that was all a long time ago, and anyway you're mine now," Porthos declared, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. He hadn't meant to stir up painful memories. 

Athos gave him a grateful smile. "Yes," he murmured. "All yours." he found Porthos' hand under the covers and squeezed it. "After that I never thought I would ever fall in love again," he confessed. "It seemed safer for all concerned. But when I met you - despite everything, somehow life slowly became worth living again."

"You should have told me," Porthos said. 

Athos shook his head. "Back then? You'd have been horrified."

"Maybe at first," Porthos said uncomfortably. "But given time to think about it - I don't know. I mean, I'm the same person now I was then. Maybe I'd have come round to it."

"If there is one thing I've learned, there's no sense in what ifs," Athos said, lifting Porthos' hand and kissing his knuckles. "It was enough, just to be with you. And besides, if we had taken up together back then you wouldn't have Marie and Francis, would you?"

"That's true." Porthos sighed and hugged him. "Maybe Aramis is right. Maybe things really do all happen for a reason. And in their allotted time."

"Maybe." Athos wriggled down under the covers and pulled Porthos down with him, wrapping his arms snugly around his waist. "Don't tell him though. He'd be insufferable."

Porthos gave a bark of laughter, and kissed him. 

"Do you think we might tell Aramis about us, one day?" Porthos asked, when they'd broken off kissing again. "I think out of everyone, he might understand."

"Perhaps," Athos conceded. "I was wondering the same about d'Artagnan."

Porthos snorted. "Well, there you are, case in point. He's always had a crush on you."

Athos slapped him on the chest with a huff of laughter. "He has not! Not like this. My God, the idea of it. He'd be appalled."

"You reckon?" Porthos grinned at him. "All those kids, he's got to be compensating for something."

Athos' laughter was muffled by Porthos promptly kissing him again, and they sprawled together in an affectionate tangle of limbs.

"Do you want to go to sleep?" Porthos asked presently, watching Athos stifle a yawn.

Athos eyed him speculatively. "Not especially. Do you?"

"Depends what the options are," Porthos smirked. "I'm new to all this."

"So am I, remember?" Athos laughed. 

"Well I figure taking these things off would be a good start," Porthos said, tugging at his nightshirt. "After that..." He smiled. "Well, I guess we can learn together."

\--


End file.
